UC-NRLF 


B    3    TDfi    173 


IN  THE   GUIANA    FOREST 


IN  THE  GUIANA 

FOREST.  STUDIES  OF 

NATURE  IN  RELATION  TO 
THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE 

Sy  JAMES  RODWAY,  F.L.S.,  Author  of 
"The  West  Indies  and  the  Spanish  Main,"  "In 
Guiana  Wilds,"  "A  History  of  British  Guiana,"etc. 


NEW,   REVISED,   AND 
ENLARGED    EDITION 


\7ITH    24    ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.  MCCLURG  AND   CO. 
1912 


ii. 


reserved.) 


PUBLISHER'S   NOTE. 

To  the  original  edition  of  this  work  the  late  Mr. 
Grant  Allen  contributed  an  Introduction.  It 
would  seem  fitting  in  this  second  edition  to 
recall  his  concluding  words : — 

"  It  is  too  often  the  fault  of  tropical  travellers 
that  they  care  a  great  deal  for  skins  and  horns 
and  feathers,  but  little  or  nothing  for  leaves, 
fruits,  and  flowers.  This  is  a  sad  mistake,  for  the 
vast  majority  of  living  things,  after  all,  are  plants 
or  trees,  while  the  animals  are  everywhere  in  a 
miserable  minority.  This  error  Mr.  Rodway, 
whom  I  take  to  be  above  all  things  essentially 
a  botanist,  has  successfully  avoided.  It  is  the 
woodland  he  paints,  not  merely  the  sport  in  it. 
He  gives  us  a  faithful  picture  of  that  ever-present 
reality,  the  forest  itself,  as  well  as  of  the  beasts, 
and  birds,  and  reptiles,  and  insects  that  haunt  it 
or  burrow  in  it.  This  ever-present  reality,  which 
too  often  becomes  a  mere  background  in  the 


309487 


6  PUBLISHERS  NOT£ 

picture  to  the  animal  life,  is  here  represented  of 
its  proper  size  and  in  its  appropriate  proportions. 
It  is  the  portrait.  This  peculiar  touch,  I  think, 
makes  Mr.  Rodway's  book  one  of  the  most  im- 
pressive and  weirdly  solemn  delineations  ever 
limned  by  cunning  hands  of  the  great  tropical 
woodlands." 

To  this  might  be  added  that  as  Nature  study 
has  now  become  an  important  part  of  the  educa- 
tion given  in  schools  and  colleges,  it  is  believed 
that  this  new  edition  of  Mr.  Rodway's  book  will 
be  valuable  to  teachers,  as  well  as  to  the  general 
public. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  V  .  .  •  .II 

CHAPTER 

I.  THE  FOREST  .           .           •  .  • .  ,       25 

II.  THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST  >-  .    41 

III.  THE  INDIAN  HUNTER           .  .           68 

IV.  THE  FISHERMAN  .           >  .  .    83 

V.  THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST         •          98 

VI.  THE  INSECTS       .  •  •  "6 

VII.  INTERDEPENDENCE     OF     PLANTS     AND 

ANIMALS   .  »  .  %         T32 

VIII.  THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE           .  .152 

IX.  ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS          .  171 

X.  UP  IN  THE  TREES          .           .  •  I91 

XI.  IN  THE  SWAMP         »           .           •  211 

XII.  ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN  .228 

7 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIII.  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE  .            .  .239 

XIV.  IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN  .  .259 

XV.  MAN'S  FOOTPRINTS    .            .  .         269 

XVI.  THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  .  .281 

XVII.  THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE       .         294 

XVIII.  NATURE'S  LAWS  .            .  .  .  3T3 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FOREST  AND  RIVER  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

THIN  TIMBER  ON  POOR  SOIL        .  .  .     25 

A  NATURAL  BRIDGE  x        .  .  .  .28 

PORTAGE  TO  AVOID  A  FALLX          .  .  .33 

INDIANS  COMING  DOWN  A  RAPID  .  .  .41 

THE  FISHERMAN     .  ..          *  .  •  .    83 

THE  HAUNT  OF  THE  ARAPAIMA    .  .  .88 

GREAT  MOTH  BORER     :   .  .  .  .116 

CLUSIA  FLOURISHING  ON  CORAL  TREE  ,  .152 

WILD- FIG,  AFTER  DESTROYING  ITS  HOST  .  .  l6l 

CONFUSED  ASSEMBLAGE  OF  AERIAL  ROOTS  OF  A 
CLUSIA  .  f         .  .  .  .163 

1  Photos  by  C.  W.  Anderson,  Esq. 
9 


10  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FACING  PAGE 

CREEK  SCENE         .  .  .  .  .171 

RIVER  SCENE x       .  •  •  •  .  177 

A  CLEARING1  .....  191 
SILK  COTTON-TREE,  CROWDED  WITH  EPHIPHYTES  .  193 
AN  ORCHID,  ASSOCIATED  WITH  OTHER  EPHIPHYTES  200 
INUNDATED  FOREST  .  .  •  .211 

ON  THE  SAND  REEF          .  .  .  .228 

IN  A  MANGROVE  SWAMP    .  .  .  .239 

ABORTIVE  AERIAL  ROOTS  OF  THE  COURIDA  .  241 
AERIAL  ROOTS  OF  COURIDA  GROWING  UPWARDS  .  243 
MATTED  ROOTS  OF  COURIDA  .  .  .246 

A  TERMINALIA  OVER-RUN  BY  LORANTHS  .  .257 

AN  INDIAN  PATH   .  .  .  •  .269 

1  Photos  by  C.  W.  Anderson,  Esq. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  glamour  of  the  wilds  produced  "  In  the 
Guiana  Forest."  It  was  the  result  of  many 
a  peep  into  the  jungle.  Disappointing,  no 
doubt,  as  a  book  of  travel  and  adventure,  it 
represented  to  the  many  a  hum-drum  state 
of  things.  Some  said  it  was  all  fancy,  others 
represented  it  as  the  work  of  a  dreamer. 
The  few,  however,  knew  it  to  be  a  true 
picture,  and  one  friend  said  it  kept  him 
sitting  up  longer  than  any  book  he  ever 
perused. 

It  was  intended  as  an  attempt  to  picture 
wild  nature  in  all  its  loveliness  ;  the  journeys 
to  the  forest  were  the  dullest  part  of  the 
undertaking.  As  for  the  return  in  a  bateau, 


4  i  • .         ": . .   :  •  \  •  &TROD  UCTION. 

it  was  more  than  tiresome.  The  forest  was 
the  goal,  there  the  interest  was  continual. 
At  first  it  was  bewildering,  what  the  ordinary 
traveller  would  call  tame.  No  mountains  to 
climb,  no  rocks  or  precipices,  no  dangers 
to  encounter,  nothing  but  bush  and  insects. 
Oh !  those  insects !  Myriads  of  them  as 
lovely  as  they  are  troublesome  to  those 
who  are  worried  by  trifles.  That  side  of 
insect  life  is,  however,  of  small  impor- 
tance to  those  who  see.  They  are  in  the 
position  so  well  indicated  in  Mrs.  Browning's 
lines : — 


"  Earth  is  craiamed  with  heaven, 
And  every  common  bush  afire  with  God, 
But  only  he  who  sees 
Takes  off  his  shoes." 


He  who  sees  is  on  holy  ground.  His  blind- 
ness has  given  place  to  a  glorious  effulgence. 
No  matter  that  the  forest  is  dark  and  dismal, 
there  is  something  everywhere  worth  more 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

than  a  passing  glance.  Here  is  an  intermin- 
able array  of  buttressed  trunks  with  hardly 
a  sign  of  life  to  the  ordinary  visitor.  But 
there  are  ants  in  myriads  if  nothing  more, 
and  no  one  can  say  that  these  tiny  creatures 
are  wanting  in  interest.  Then  come  the 
covered  tunnels  of  the  wood-ants  or  termites. 
Now  and  again  a  transparent  winged  butter- 
fly will  flit  ghost-like  among  the  columns. 
You  see  it  for  an  instant  and  then  it  vanishes. 
The  seeing  eye  can  sometimes  distinguish 
it  on  its  perch  but  it  is  often  quite  invisible. 
Then  perhaps  comes  another  which  when  it 
spreads  itself  upon  a  trunk  is  in  perfect 
harmony  with  it.  The  woodland  voices  are 
few,  but  Waterton  could  distinguish  and 
enjoy  them.  "Though  retired  from  the 
haunts  of  men,  and  even  without  a  friend 
with  thee,  thou  would'st  not  find  it 
solitary.  The  crowing  of  the  hannaquoi 
will  sound  in  thy  ears  like  the  daybreak 
town-clock  ;  and  the  wren  and  the  thrush 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

will  join  thee  in  thy  matin  hymn  to  thy 
Creator." 

Waterton  trod  on  this  holy  ground.  To 
imitate  the  noiseless  walk  of  the  Indian  he 
went  barefoot.  Although  not  primarily  a 
student  of  bird-life  as  he  was,  I  have 
followed  in  his  steps.  His  Indian  and 
Boviander  friends  have  their  representatives 
to-day  ;  you  may  come  across  descendants  of 
the  Backers  and  possibly  of  Daddy  Quashy. 
The  forest  is  still  there,  and  almost  as  lonely 
as  when  he  wandered  through  it.  The 
home  of  the  Edmonstones  has  long  gone 
to  ruin,  but  we  can  still  find  its  site. 
Possibly  in  the  future  some  visitor  to  the 
Colony  may  like  to  explore  the  creek 
where  he  lived,  and  where  the  little  one- 
fourth  Indian  girl  grew  up  who  afterwards 
became  his  wife. 

Nowadays  there  is  little  delight  in 
thoughtful  meditation ;  we  generally  live 
among  a  crowd  of  people,  which  hardly  con- 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

sists  with  high  thinking.  However,  there 
are  to  be  found,  even  in  temperate  climates, 
the  pathless  woods,  the  lonely  shore,  the 
open  fields,  and  the  hills  where  we  can 
think  of  Nature  and  her  great  Ruler. 
Tom  Hood  struck  the  right  note  when 
he  said : — 

"  Thrice  blessed  is  the  man  with  whom 
The  gracious  prodigality  of  nature, 
The  balm,  the  bliss,  the  beauty  and  the  bloom, 
The  bounteous  providence  in  every  feature, 
Recall  the  good  Creator  to  his  creature, 
Making  all  earth  a  fane,  all  heaven  its  dome." 

The  deep  feeling  of  sympathy  with  the  whole 
realm  of  nature  is  felt  by  a  few.  To  them 
everything  is  lovely  because  all  are  working 
together  for  good.  Nothing  is  common  or  un- 
clean. They  enjoy  many  hours  poring  over 
a  gathering  from  some  filthy  ditch  and  will 
hardly  shrink  when  searching  for  beetles  in  a 
piece  of  carrion.  We  have  often  been  amused 
when  investigating  our  trenches  to  see  a 


1 6  INTRODUCTION. 

little  crowd  come  round  and  make  wondering 
remarks  at  the  muck  which  we  are  so  care- 
fully putting  into  the  collecting-jar.  To 
them  we  are  dabbling  in  filth.  Not  only  the 
ignorant,  however,  but  even  some  educated 
people,  have  a  horror  of  insects.  They 
shudder  at  sight  of  harmless  creatures  and 
even  run  off  if  a  centipede  or  scorpion 
is  found  when  house-cleaning.  If  they 
had  been  consulted  when  such  pests  came 
into  existence  they  would  have  given 
strong  opinions  against  their  creation. 
Fortunately  for  the  world,  and  even  for 
themselves,  greater  wisdom  was  to  the 
fore. 

It  may  be  safely  stated  that,  apart  from 
man's  interference,  there  are  no  unmitigated 
pests.  He  himself  is  the  great  offender, 
as  Ray  Lankester  well  says,  "  Nature's 
insurgent  son."  But,  continues  Dr.  Lan- 
kester, he  cannot  escape  from  the  con- 
sequences of  his  actions.  A  successful 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

rebel,  yet  every  step  renders  him  liable  to 
greater  and  greater  penalties ;  he  cannot 
afford  to  pause,  much  less  to  stop.  Having 
gained  some  power  and  advantage  by  wil- 
fully abrogating  the  laws  of  his  mother  and 
being  threatened  on  every  hand  by  dangers 
and  disasters  hitherto  restrained,  his  only 
hope  is  to  control  the  sources  of  these 
dangers,  which  already  make  him  wince. 
The  remedy  is  perhaps  to  be  found  in  the 
careful  study  of  the  conditions  under  which 
pests  and  diseases  occur  rather  than  the 
pests  themselves. 

While  quite  ready  to  admit  that  the  germs 
of  disease  are  carried  by  animals,  this  is  by 
no  means  everything.  A  score  of  persons 
may  be  exposed  to  the  same  influences  but 
only  two  or  three  contract  the  disease.  What 
is  the  cause  of  this  immunity  ?  We  all  know 
some  of  the  causes,  such  as  dirt,  improper 
food,  impure  water  or  air  and  climate.  Is  it 
not  true  that  when  an  epidemic  appears  it 


i8  INTRODUCTION. 

carries  off  the  weak  and  unfit,  and  that 
the  death-rate  is  not  affected  to  a  very 
great  extent?  And  is  it  not  also  true 
that  the  elimination  is  a  part  of  the  great 
scheme  ? 

Under  the  law  of  self-defence  man  has  a 
right  to  destroy  his  enemies,  but  as  a  reason- 
able being  he  must  first  be  sure  that  what  he 
is  trying  to  exterminate  is  entirely  noxious. 
From  the  study  of  nature  in  its  various  aspects 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  an  unmitigated  pest.  It 
all  depends  on  the  standpoint ;  on  the  one 
hand  a  species  may  be  a  pest  or  at  least 
a  nuisance,  on  the  other  it  is  a  pest  de- 
stroyer. When  left  alone  the  balance  is 
ultimately  adjusted.  Meanwhile  we  must 
see  what  can  be  done. 

Plagues  and  famines  come  within  the  pro- 
vince of  the  student  of  nature  ;  they  are  checks 
on  abnormal  increase.  Being  part  of  the 
great  scheme,  we  must  not  hastily  stigmatise 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

them  as  evils.  At  the  same  time  we  cannot 
ignore  them,  self-defence  is  also  a  part  of  the 
system.  What  then  can  we  do  ?  In  the 
first  place  find  out  the  best  manner  of  fight- 
ing them.  No  doubt  we  shall  ultimately 
succeed  to  some  considerable  extent,  for 
we  have  already  obtained  a  measure  of 
success. 

The  reader  will  ask  what  has  all  this  to  do 
with  "In  the  Guiana  Forest"?  I  answer, 
everything.  Here  we  have  an  epitome  of 
the  grand  fight  which  goes  on  and  has  gone 
on  for  ages.  Species  are  developing  in  the 
great  struggle,  but  they  do  not  gain  the 
mastery.  No  plant  or  animal  appears  to  be 
entirely  driven  out.  We  do  not  see  a  forest 
of  one  or  half  a  dozen  species  of  trees,  but  of 
hundreds.  Two  of  a  kind  hardly  ever  grow 
together.  The  Indian  huntsman  is  as  much 
bound  by  the  forest  law  as  any  of  the  other 
carnivora.  He  goes  on  for  ages  without 
sensibly  increasing  in  numbers.  He  domi- 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

nates  nothing,  yet  he  holds  his  own.  If  this 
is  natural  and  therefore  necessarily  right, 
where  can  we  put  civilised  man?  He 
has  gone  ahead,  increasing  beyond  his 
natural  limits,  and  in  doing  so  has  often 
brought  trouble  upon  himself.  He  has 
preserved  the  unfit  and  must  take  the 
consequences. 

I  have  indicated  in  some  of  my  chapters 
the  lines  on  which  species  develop  so  as  to 
hold  their  own,  but  there  is  unfortunately 
no  example  of  one  having  gained  the  mastery. 
It  has  been  left  to  the  animal  with  the  most 
perfect  brain  to  work  out  this  great  problem. 
"God  made  the  country,  man  made  the 
town  "  is  a  truism  which  one  who  visits  the 
slums  can  appreciate.  Is  this  sort  of  thing 
to  go  on  ?  Or,  shall  we  ultimately  make 
New  York  and  London  into  Garden  Cities? 
With  all  their  care  bees  suffer  from  several 
pests,  yet  their  arrangements  for  cleanliness 
and  ventilation  are  better  than  those  of  many 


INTRODUCTION.  21 

a  tenement  or  hovel.  And  then  comes  in 
the  great  question  whether  man  should  give 
up  his  individuality  and  put  the  State  before 
everything.  We  seem  to  be  drifting  into  a 
kind  of  socialism  that  may  hamper  us  at 
every  turn.  An  individual  will  possibly 
cease  to  be  a  man,  and  become  only  one  of 
the  community.  This  would  tend  to  hamper 
genius,  and  to  put  inventive  superiority  in 
the  background.  Man  may  be  born  equal, 
but  individuals,  even  among  the  natives  of 
Guiana,  are  by  no  means  on  the  same  plane 
when  they  grow  up.  A  good  struggle  brings 
out  character,  we  say  that  it  shows  what  the 
man  is  worth.  Eliminate  that  struggle  and 
he  becomes  tame ;  we  all  know  what  tame- 
ness  means.  Even  our  wars  are  tame. 
They  are  horrible,  shocking,  disgraceful  to 
every  one  concerned,  but  at  the  same  time 
there  is  no  advantage  to  the  stronger  and 
braver.  No  one  can  possibly  say  nowadays 
that  one  man  is  better  than  another  when 


22  INTRODUCTION. 

every  one  is  equally  open  to  even  a  stray 
bullet. 


The  present  edition  has  four  new  chapters, 
which  to  a  slight  extent  condense  the  results 
of  a  further  study  of  the  man  of  the  forest, 
the  insects  that  ravage  our  cultivation  and 
the  three  great  laws.  I  do  not  pretend  that 
my  views  on  these  and  any  other  subject  are 
novel ;  they  are  certainly  not  intended  for 
the  technical  botanist  or  zoologist.  Never- 
theless they  are  probably  put  in  a  way  to  be 
understood  by  the  average  reader,  who  does 
not  like  to  be  hampered  with  technical  terms. 
With  time  possibly  I  may  be  able  to  do 
something  for  the  scientific  student,  but  at 
present  I  can  only  generalise.  In  the  six- 
teen years  since  I  wrote  the  book  my 
accumulations  of  facts  have  become  neces- 
sarily greater,  but  there  is  very  little  that  I 
care  to  delete.  In  fact,  it  was  rather  difficult 


INTRODUCTION.  23 

to  write  new  matter  that  would  satisfy  my 
desire  to  come  up  to  the  standard  of  the 
original  chapters.  However,  it  has  been 
done  in  the  best  manner  possible  at 
present.  The  book  as  it  now  stands  repre- 
sents forty  years'  study  of  tropical  nature 
under  very  great  difficulties. 

J.    RODWAY. 

MUSEUM,  GEORGETOWN,  BRITISH  GUIANA. 


THIN   TIMBER  ON   POOR   SOIL. 


To  face  p.  25. 


In   the   Guiana  Forest. 

i. 

THE  FOREST. 

EVERY  one  loves  the  forest.  Whether  it  be  the 
merry  green  wood  of  the  bold  outlaw,  the  pleasant 
grove,  or  the  game  preserve,  each  has  its  charm 
If  such  be  the  case  with  the  insignificant  as- 
semblages of  trees  in  temperate  climates,  what 
shall  we  say  to  the  great  tropical  forests.  As  we 
sit  down  and  recall  the  memories  of  different 
excursions,  we  are  almost  carried  away  with 
enthusiasm  and  wish  to  be  once  more  lying  in 
our  hammock  on  the  bank  of  some  grand  river. 
Visions  of  mighty  streams  with  dangerous  rapids, 
of  creeks  winding  amid  flowery  arcades,  of  wide  ex- 
panses of  savannah  and  swamp  bordered  by  lines 
of  palms,  of  sand-reefs  glittering  in  the  intense 

25 


26  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

sunlight,  rise  up  before  us  and  present  pictures  of 
loveliness  that  makes  us  feel  how  dear  such 
memories  are.  No  matter  that  every  trip  was 
more  or  less  uncomfortable,  and  some  even 
dangerous,  our  pulse  beats  excitedly  as  we  think 
of  nature  in  all  her  wildness  and  beauty.  We 
may  spend  days  or  weeks  in  an  open  boat,  now 
exposed  to  the  intense  glare  of  a  tropical  sun,  and 
anon  drenched  by  sudden  downpours  of  rain  of 
which  other  climes  know  nothing,  yet  our  memories 
remain  as  dear  to  us  as  if  everything  had  been 
pleasant.  By  day  the  journey  was  long  and  tire- 
some, and  when  night  came  our  rest  was  perhaps 
disturbed  by  mosquitoes  or  sand-flies,  yet  the 
magnificent  scenery  of  the  forest  has  been  im- 
pressed upon  us  in  a  way  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Every  trouble  and  difficulty — every  danger  to 
health  or  life — has  been  gilded  by  a  covering  of 
beautiful  leaves  and  flowers. 

This  enthusiasm  for  life  in  the  bush  is  common 
to  all,  but  more  especially  to  the  huntsman  and 
naturalist.  An  ordinary  traveller,  however,  soon 
gets  wearied  of  the  awful  silence  ;  to  him  every- 
thing is  uniform — the  forest  is  simply  a  jungle 
or  wilderness.  He  sees  before  him  a  confused 
assemblage  of  pillars,  supporting  an  enormous 
green  roof,  of  which  he  can  distinguish  but  little 


THE  FOREST.  27 

on  account  of  the  dense  shade.  Then,  the  heat 
and  moisture,  together  with  the  oppressive  smell 
of  decaying  vegetation,  remind  him  that  fever 
lurks  in  these  recesses,  and  drive  him  back  to 
his  bateau.  However,  indifferent  as  he  may  be 
to  the  primitive  forest,  he  cannot  but  enjoy  a  trip 
on  one  of  the  smaller  rivers  or  creeks.  Here  each 
bend  brings  a  new  picture  before  his  eyes,  every 
one  worth  keeping  in  mind  until  his  return,  when, 
perhaps  surrounded  with  home  comforts,  he  will 
forget  all  the  inconveniences  which  prevented  his 
enjoying  them  at  the  time. 

To  the  huntsman,  with  whom  we  must  class  the 
native  Indian,  the  forest  is  never  dull.  However 
deserted  it  may  appear,  he  knows  where  to  look 
for  the  acourie  and  labba,  or  on  what  trees 
monkeys  and  parrots  are  likely  to  be  found.  The 
Indian  treads  softly  so  that  not  a  twig  or  leaf 
rustles  under  foot,  yet  he  trips  along  much  faster 
than  the  white  man  can  follow.  To  him  the  path- 
less woods  are  familiar ;  he  knows  every  hill  and 
valley ;  the  little  streams  which  trickle  downward 
have  their  destinations,  and  he  can  tell  you  whence 
they  come  and  where  they  go.  Then,  hundreds  of 
the  great  trees  are  quite  as  well  known  to  him  as 
are  public  buildings  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  city. 
When  in  a  strange  locality  he  bends  down  a  young 


28  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

sapling  at  intervals,  so  that  the  under  surface  of 
the  leaves  may  be  visible  on  his  return  and  point 
the  way.  His  white  companion  misses  him  as  he 
hurries  along  and  stands  up  bewildered.  At  a 
short  distance  his  reddish-brown  skin  harmonises 
with  the  tree-trunks,  and  as  his  movements  are 
absolutely  noiseless,  he  cannot  be  seen  or  heard. 
Perhaps  the  Indian  wants  to  shoot  some  animal, 
and  purposely  leaves  the  white  man  behind  for 
fear  he  should  disturb  the  game.  Then  the  report 
of  a  gun  is  heard  reverberating  among  the  columns, 
but  even  that  will  not  indicate  the  direction  to  any 
one  but  an  expert.  Presently  the  Indian  comes 
back  with  his  game  and  smiles  at  the  remonstrances 
of  his  companion.  On  they  go  again  until  perhaps 
a  small  creek  is  reached,  over  which  stretches  a 
fallen  palm.  On  this  the  red  man  lightly  trips 
and  is  going  straight  along  into  the  forest,  ex- 
pecting the  other  to  follow.  But  who  could  walk 
in  boots  on  such  a  slippery  bridge  ?  The  white 
man  gives  the  bush  call,  Hoo — oo — oo — oo,  and 
the  Indian  comes  back  again  looking  surprised 
that  this  convenient  bridge  could  be  any  more  an 
obstacle  to  another  than  to  him.  The  novice  tries 
to  explain,  but  almost  before  he  can  understand 
what  is  taking  place,  he  is  in  the  arms  of  his  com- 
panion and  over  the  creek. 


THE  FOREST.  29 

The  Indian  is  at  home  in  the  forest  His  colour 
is  in  harmony  with  his  surroundings  and  his  hut 
seems  altogether  fitted  for  the  little  mound  on 
which  it  generally  stands.  Its  palm  thatch  soon 
becomes  brown  and  differs  little  from  the  dead 
leaves  which  are  falling  in  every  direction,  while 
its  uprights  are  only  small  tree  stems  which  can 
be  matched  a  few  yards  away.  No  painted  walls 
or  carving  of  any  kind  obstruct  the  view,  nor  do 
his  few  articles  of  furniture  disturb  the  general 
effect.  When  we  see  a  boarded  cottage  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  with  its  surroundings  of  stumps, 
and  perhaps  charred  logs,  a  contrast  is  at  once 
produced,  and  the  gap  is  a  blot  on  the  landscape, 
but  when  an  Indian  makes  a  similar  clearing  for 
his  cassava  field  he  always  chooses  a  place  at  some 
distance  from  the  settlement,  where,  surrounded  by 
tall  trees,  it  can  only  be  found  after  a  careful 
search. 

As  the  home  of  the  red  man  harmonises  with 
the  forest,  so  does  his  canoe  with  the  dark  waters 
of  the  creek.  He  uses  no  ornament  on  his  frail 
craft,  so  that  whether  it  lies  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  is  hidden  in  a  tangle  of  bush-ropes,  or  drawn 
up  on  the  bank,  it  is  hardly  distinguishable  from 
its  surroundings.  As  he  sits  and  paddles  quietly 
along  it  makes  us  think  of  a  possible  explanation 


30  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

of  the  old  myth  of  a  creature  half-man,  half-fish. 
In  the  gloom  of  the  forest  arcade  the  canoe  glides 
along  as  noiselessly  as  if  it  were  a  brown  aquatic 
creature  with  a  man's  body  and  shoulders  above 
water  slowly  guiding  itself  with  one  great  flapper. 
This  is  best  seen  in  small  canoes,  some  of  which 
hold  only  one  person.  They  are  so  very  unstable 
that  none  but  Indians  dare  to  use  them  even  in  the 
stillest  water.  Yet  their  owners  will  take  them  into 
the  breakers  below  the  rapids,  and  even  stand  up 
in  them  to  shoot  the  great  pacou  and  other  fish 
which  abound  in  such  places. 

If  the  forest  has  attractions  for  the  huntsman, 
how  much  more  interesting  it  must  be  to  the 
naturalist  What  one  who  has  delighted  the  world 
for  over  fifty  years  thought  of  the  Guiana  forest 
may  be  seen  in  Waterton's  "Wanderings."  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  Yorkshire  squire  has  probably 
never  been  surpassed.  To  him  the  forest  was 
something  more  than  the  awful  solitude  which  is 
the  first  impression  it  makes  on  a  stranger — it  was 
full  of  life.  No  matter  that  the  silence  at  noonday 
was  something  almost  appalling  and  that  the 
unfamiliar  cries  of  animals  after  sunset  only  added 
to  the  impression  of  loneliness,  a  feeling  of  intense 
but  quiet  pleasure  was  produced  which  can  be  ap- 
preciated only  by  one  who  has  followed  in  his  steps. 


THE  FOREST.  31 

Unfortunately  for  Charles  Waterton  he  was  not 
a  botanist,  and  therefore  could  appreciate  only 
one  side  of  forest  life,  and  that  possibly  the  least 
important.  More  and  more  every  day  it  becomes 
necessary  for  the  naturalist  to  go  beyond  his  own 
special  province.  The  entomologist  must  know 
something  of  the  plants  on  which  insects  feed,  and 
the  botanist  a  great  deal  about  the  fertilising  agents 
continually  at  work  among  the  flowers.  He  who 
sees  only  one  aspect  of  nature  can  never  fully 
appreciate  the  beautiful  adaptations  of  one  to 
another  and  their  perfect  interdependence. 

Naturalists  have  been  stigmatised  as  wanting  in 
that  sense  of  beauty  and  harmony  so  common 
everywhere  among  poets  and  dreamers.  Far  from 
such  being  the  case,  however,  none  but  a  student 
of  nature  can  fully  appreciate  a  landscape.  The 
painter  sees  patches  of  colour  in  sky,  tree,  or  river, 
but  the  naturalist  recognises  the  objects  which 
make  up  the  scene.  On  the  sand-reef  he  dis- 
tinguishes the  footsteps  of  a  jaguar  and  the 
remains  of  his  dinner,  and  can  picture  what  has 
taken  place  in  the  night.  A  peccary  left  her  hole 
in  a  hollow  tree  at  nightfall  to  feed  under  the 
saouari-nut  trees.  She  is  quietly  cracking  the 
shells  and  munching  the  oily  kernels,  when  the 
great  cat  suddenly  pounces  upon  her,  and  notwith- 


32  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

standing  her  struggles,  of  which  the  evidence  is 
plainly  marked  on  the  sand,  she  is  torn  to  pieces 
and  eaten.  Here  are  the  delicate  hoofs  and  there 
two  or  three  bones,  while  bristles  like  miniature 
porcupine  quills  litter  the  sand. 

Sitting  on  a  hollow  tree  beside  a  creek,  he  sees 
a  thousand  flowers  and  fruits  floating  down  the 
stream.  Now  he  distinguishes  a  palm  nut  snatched 
under  the  water  by  a  great  fish,  or  a  shoal  of  small 
fry  feeding  on  the  yellow  hog-plums  which  are  so 
conspicuous  against  the  dark  water.  Now  there  is 
a  splash  as  an  alligator  comes  out  of  the  thicket 
and  dives  under,  to  come  up  again  some  distance 
away,  hardly  distinguishable  except  to  a  trained 
eye.  This  reminds  us  of  the  protective  coloration 
of  every  living  thing  in  the  forest.  The  jaguar 
lives  on  the  sand-reef  where  bushes  grow  in  large 
clumps  between  irregular  patches  of  sand.  Unlike 
the  dense  forest,  where  reigns  eternal  twilight,  these 
shrubs  admit  a  few  rays  through  the  canopy  above 
which  lie  as  bright  spots  on  the  litter  of  dead 
leaves.  How  like  is  this  to  the  markings  of  the 
jaguar,  and  how  easy  can  this  beautiful  creature 
lie  hid  in  such  a  thicket.  Again,  the  tapir  and 
a  species  of  deer  have  white  markings  when  young, 
which  they  lose  as  they  grow  older  ;  these  are  also 
protective  at  the  time  when  such  protection  is  most 


THE  FOREST.  33 

necessary.  Other  protective  contrivances  are  found 
in  every  forest  animal,  the  sloth  being  especially 
remarkable  for  its  long  hairy  coat  and  its  manner 
of  hanging  under  a  branch  like  one  of  those  nests 
of  termites  so  common  in  the  forest,  or  the  cluster 
of  aerial  roots  of  an  epiphyte.  Snakes  are  also 
nearly  invisible  in  the  gloom,  notwithstanding  their 
brilliant  colours  when  played  upon  by  the  sunlight. 
When  the  sun  is  high,  from  about  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  until  four  in  the  afternoon,  hardly 
a  sound  is  heard.  Every  animal  is  asleep  or  quiet, 
and  not  even  a  bird  utters  its  characteristic  note. 
Now  and  again,  however,  a  howling  monkey  or  a 
tree-frog  breaks  the  silence  with  his  prolonged 
notes,  but  these  only  add  to  a  feeling  of  utter 
solitude,  as  does  the  baa  of  a  sheep  on  some 
mountain  pasture  in  other  climes.  Then,  the 
forest  is  steaming  with  moisture  like  a  Turkish 
bath,  and  man  feels  inclined  to  lie  in  his  hammock 
and  take  a  siesta.  The  open  river  glows  with  the 
fervent  heat,  the  surface  is  warm  to  the  touch  and 
even  the  fishes  retire  into  the  depths  below,  so  that 
not  a  ripple  disturbs  the  surface.  Near  the  banks 
every  bush  and  tree  is  mirrored  on  the  smooth 
surface,  and  among  these  shadows  a  canoe  may 
sometimes  be  distinguished  moving  noiselessly 
along  as  if  it  were  a  phantom. 

3 


34  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

With  so  few  atmospheric  changes  it  might  be 
supposed  that  the  tropical  forest  would  give  rise  to 
little  variation  in  animals  and  plants,  yet,  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  here  that  nature  runs  riot  as  it  were. 
Physical  environment  has  certainly  some  influence, 
but  we  must  look  for  the  prime  factor  of  differen- 
tiation in  the  intense  struggle  for  life.  Man  has 
done  little  or  nothing  towards  producing  the 
result,  but  everything  is  the  outcome  of  energy 
and  selfishness.  Nature  has  been  lavish  with  her 
gifts.  Heat,  light,  and  moisture  are  plenteously 
bestowed,  yet  few  trees  can  get  room  to 
assimilate  as  much  of  the  two  latter  as  they  need. 
The  forest  is  densely  populated — more  so,  in  fact, 
than  any  city  ever  was  or  could  be.  There  is  not 
room  for  one  in  a  thousand  of  the  children  born 
therein,  so  that  the  fight  for  standing  room  is  like 
that  of  a  crowd  at  a  flte.  It  follows,  therefore, 
that  every  possible  contrivance  to  gain  a  position 
has  been  developed,  and  the  result  is  almost  per- 
fection. The  victory,  however,  has  not  been  to  the 
few,  but  to  the  many.  One  species  has  progressed 
on  certain  lines,  but  others  have  not  been  idle; 
although  the  developments  may  be  different  in 
each  case  the  end  is  almost  identical. 

The  trees  have  succeeded  in  defending  them- 
selves against  almost  every  animal.  It  is  frue 


THE  FOREST.  35 

that  the  sloth,  and  certain  species  of  ants  and  cater- 
pillars, almost  strip  them  of  their  leaves,  but  not 
a  single  animal  appears  to  gnaw  at  their  bark. 
Even  the  young  seedlings  are  free  from  outside 
enemies,  and  have  every  possible  opportunity  of 
gaining  a  position  if  their  elders  give  them  a 
chance.  The  fight  is  therefore  one  between  tree 
and  tree ;  not  even  species,  but  individuals.  Like 
a  battle  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  fight  is  made  up  of 
single  combats,  where  each  forest  giant  is  a  centre 
with  enemies  in  every  direction.  And,  not  only  is  it 
a  battle,  but  a  fight  for  life  which  has  to  be  con- 
tinued day  after  day  and  year  after  year  without 
cessation.  There  never  was,  nor  ever  can  be,  a  truce. 
The  armour  cannot  be  put  off,  but  must  be  con- 
tinually worn  and  always  kept  in  order.  Now  and 
again  one  of  the  combatants  is  killed,  and  then 
ensues  a  struggle  for  his  position.  There  is  room 
for  one,  and  a  hundred  little  soldiers  have  to  fight 
until  the  fortunate  victor  gains  the  place,  and  can 
take  its  part  in  the  greater  struggle. 

"  Practice  makes  perfect."  An  old  soldier  ne- 
cessarily becomes  proficient  in  warfare,  and  under 
the  system  in  vogue  during  the  Middle  Ages 
the  result  generally  depended  on  individual 
prowess.  Such  is  the  case  now  in  the  Guiana 
forest.  Every  tree  has  chosen  its  weapons  of 


36  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

offence  and  defence,  and  taught  itself  how  to  wield 
them  to  the  best  advantage.  No  species  is  armed 
in  exactly  the  same  way  as  another,  but  every  one 
made  his  selection  in  some  past  age,  and  goes 
on  year  after  year  making  improvements  as  his 
enemies  become  stronger.  Why  one  should  choose 
to  strangle  his  enemy,  another  to  suck  his  blood, 
and  a  third  to  smother  him,  it  is  hard  to  say,  but 
such  differences  exist. 

How  firm  and  stately  are  these  great  monarchs 
of  the  forest !  They  have  gained  their  positions 
years  ago,  and  are  now  strong  enough  to  hold 
their  own.  They  have  good  armour,  well  tested, 
have  killed  off  thousands  of  younger  rivals,  and 
might  be  thought  secure.  But  no !  mere  strength 
may  not  overcome  them,  but  craft  will.  Like 
Sinbad,  they  take  some  apparent  weakling  on 
their  shoulders,  and  he  soon  develops  into  another 
"  Old  Man  of  the  Sea."  When  the  forest  giant  gets 
old  and  feeble  his  enemies  come  round  him  in 
force.  He  can  no  longer  continue  the  great 
struggle,  and  quickly  succumbs,  perhaps  to  two  or 
three  of  his  own  children  who  have  grown  up  under 
his  shadow. 

In  the  midst  of  such  a  fight  it  naturally  follows 
that  every  generation  becomes  stronger  and  more 
fit  for  the  struggle.  Every  experience  of  the 


THE  FOREST.  37 

parent  is  perpetuated  in  the  child,  so  that  it  is 
easily  conceivable  that  the  son  may  overcome  his 
own  father  by  means  of  higher  powers  gained  in 
the  lifetime  of  that  individual,  but  which  were  less 
pronounced  in  the  former  generation.  When  we 
look  upon  every  individual  man,  beast,  or  plant,  as 
nothing  less  than  the  same  being  who  lived  tens  of 
thousands  (perhaps  millions)  of  years  ago,  and  has 
continued  to  live  up  to  the  present  moment,  what 
wide  views  of  life  we  acquire.  We  are  our  parents, 
grandparents,  and  ancestors  of  all  past  ages,  up  to 
that  simple  cell  which  first  showed  a  germ  of  life. 
These  were  not  only  our  relations,  but  our  very 
selves,  and  as  long  as  the  chain  continues  we  have 
endless  life. 

We  cannot  affirm  that  the  Hebrews  held  this 
theory  of  continuity,  but  many  indications  of 
something  like  it  are  nevertheless  found  in  their 
history.  Nature  abhors  a  creature  without  off- 
spring, and  from  her  standpoint  the  man  who 
does  not  procreate  children  is  at  least  unnatural,  if 
nothing  worse.  Every  tree  of  the  forest,  from 
youth  to  old  age,  is  doing  its  best  to  ensure  that 
his  line  shall  not  come  to  an  end  with  him.  In 
youth  he  does  everything  possible  to  become 
strong  enough  to  fight  for  a  place  among  others 
For  what  purpose  ?  That  he  may  get  sunlight  to 


3$  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

produce  offspring.  If  he  is  overshadowed  by 
others,  flowers  cannot  be  produced,  and  without 
flowers,  as  a  matter  of  course,  there  can  be  no 
seeds.  When  we  see  the  plants  of  our  gardens 
flower  freely  we  know  they  are  in  good  health. 
We  can  even  conceive  that  they  glory  in  the 
success  they  have  achieved.  How  much  more, 
then,  must  the  trees  ol  the  forest  exult  in  the  fact 
that  they  have  at  last  overcome  all  opposition  and 
produced  their  first-born. 

Seeing  all  these  things  and  a  thousand  others  in 
the  forest,  the  naturalist  cannot  but  feel  interested 
in  it.  Every  day  something  new  attracts  his 
attention,  and  every  fresh  observation  gives  rise  to 
a  train  of  thought  which  leads  him  on  and  on  to 
solve  problems  of  the  greatest  importance.  At 
first  the  number  of  these  is  appalling — he  gets 
almost  disheartened  as  questions  come  up  one 
after  another.  To  slightly  alter  an  old  quotation, 
"  Science  is  long  but  life  is  short,"  nevertheless,  if 
we  succeed  in  discovering  a  few  of  nature's  secrets, 
we  shall  not  have  lived  in  vain.  Unfortunately  for 
tropical  nature,  few  naturalists  have  had  the  privi- 
lege of  even  a  passing  glimpse  of  her  beauties,  while 
those  who  have  lived  in  the  great  South  American 
forest  for  any  length  of  time  could  be  numbered  on 
the  fingers. 


THE  FOREST.  39 

No  doubt  the  investigation  of  tropical  nature  is 
responsible  for  the  evolution  theory.  Even  if  this 
be  questionable  in  Darwin's  case,  although  it 
seems  evident  that  his  voyage  in  the  Beagle  gave 
him  the  first  glimmerings  of  light  on  the  subject, 
it  cannot  be  disputed  in  that  of  Wallace.  Then 
Bates,  Belt,  and  a  number  of  others  who  have 
collected  evidence  in  support  of  the  theory  have  all 
lived  in  the  tropics  and  forwarded  their  observa- 
tions to  be  dealt  with  by  students  all  over  the 
world.  Here,  in  the  Guiana  forest,  the  evidence 
for  continual  development  is  beyond  question. 
Every  tree,  every  animal,  and  every  man  is  a 
living  example  of  heredity  and  environment — 
natural  and  sexual  selection.  The  struggle  for 
life  and  the  survival  of  the  fittest  can  be  seen 
every  day  in  the  forest,  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers, 
among  the  sedges  and  grasses  of  the  swamp,  along 
our  muddy  shores  and  in  our  semi-wild  gardens. 
The  man  of  the  forest,  when  untainted  by  contact 
with  his  more  civilised  cousin,  also,  like  every 
other  animal,  shows  that  evolution  is  at  work 
to-day  as  it  has  been  through  all  past  ages. 
Every  living  thing  is  ever  moving  forward,  working 
towards  an  end  which  is  unattainable — perfection. 
But,  although  this  object  will  never  be  achieved, 
the  results  of  the  struggle  bring  it  continually  a 


40  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

little  nearer,  and  therefore  cannot  be  otherwise 
than  good.  No  matter  that  they  never  reach  a 
point  where  conflict  is  no  longer  necessary,  im- 
provement is  visible  in  the  survivors.  Even  the 
extinction  of  a  particular  family  or  species  makes 
room  for  others  more  fit  to  carry  on  the  strife. 
Nature  does  not  take  care  of  the  weaklings,  she 
provides  no  asylums,  if  some  of  her  creatures 
cannot  work  for  a  living  they  must  make  room  for 
those  who  can.  Individuals  are  of  little  conse- 
quence as  such,  but  nevertheless  as  links  in  the 
endless  chain  they  are  of  the  greatest  importance. 


II. 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST. 

THE  man  of  the  forest  is  in  almost  perfect  har- 
mony with  his  surroundings,  and  if  to  be  so  is  to 
be  happy,  as  some  have  said,  then  the  South 
American  Indian  must  be  one  of  the  happiest  of 
men.  He  certainly  is  a  most  pleasant  fellow,  and 
if  unsophisticated  nearly  always  kind  and  obliging. 
Without  him  the  traveller  could  hardly  find  his  way 
through  the  trackless  forest,  while  in  his  company 
everything  is  comparatively  easy.  Like  other  men, 
as  well  as  animals  and  plants,  he  is  uncomfortable 
away  from  his  environment,  and  is  looked  upon 
by  the  low-class  white,  or  even  negro,  as  vastly 
inferior.  If  to  be  a  savage  means  to  be  rude  and 
uncouth,  ill-mannered  and  disagreeable,  then  the 
Indian  little  deserves  such  an  appellation.  He  is 
one  of  nature's  gentlemen,  and  even  when  his 
wishes  do  not  correspond  with  yours  his  opposition 
is  only  passive. 


42  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

In  British  Guiana,  where  there  are  representa- 
tives of  almost  every  race  in  the  world,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  the  most  striking  differences 
between  them.  The  European,  and  in  a  lesser 
degree  the  Hindoo,  seems  to  have  almost  perfect 
control  over  his  feelings.  He  can  rule  these  if  he 
wish,  but  when  they  do  come  to  the  front  it  is 
easily  seen  that  they  are  very  strong.  The  negro, 
on  the  contrary,  carries  his  passions  on  the  surface, 
and  appears  to  have  little  control  over  them ;  it  is 
even  doubtful  whether  he  appreciates  the  deeper 
feelings  of  humanity  at  all.  The  Chinaman,  again, 
must  have  very  strong  emotions,  but  these  are  so 
completely  hidden  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
discover  any  outward  signs  of  their  existence. 
Finally,  the  American  Indian  resembles  the  China- 
man in  the  almost  total  suppression  of  all  evidence 
of  deep  feeling,  and  this  is  so  much  the  case  that 
we  might  be  inclined  to  consider  him  incapable  of 
thinking.  No  doubt  many  of  his  duties  are  per- 
formed instinctively,  but  still  there  are  signs  that 
he  can  be  roused  from  his  apathy  when  occasion 
requires. 

Having  lived  in  the  forest  for  ages,  the  Indian 
can  hardly  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  rulers  of 
creation,  but  rather  as  in  perfect  unison  with 
nature.  He  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  whole  as  the 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  43 

jaguar,  the  howling  monkey,  or  the  tapir.  He 
does  not  interfere  with  the  constitution  of  things — 
does  not  clear  great  tracts  of  land — builds  no  cities 
— erects  no  monuments — nor  does  he  leave  many 
more  traces  of  his  presence  than  the  other  inhabi- 
tants of  the  forest.  His  settlements  have  been 
scattered  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land 
for  ages,  but  except  for  a  few  trails,  hardly  more 
distinct  than  the  runs  of  large  animals,  there  are 
few  signs  of  his  presence.  From  one  point  of  view 
he  may  be  considered  as  having  attained  perfec- 
tion. The  balance  of  life  has  been  kept  up,  and, 
apart  from  outside  influences,  he  does  not  exter- 
minate a  single  animal.  Nowhere  perhaps  is  the 
fauna  of  such  an  ancient  type,  so  well  protected, 
and  so  perfectly  fitted  to  its  environment,  and 
nowhere  can  we  study  man  as  an  animal  so  well  as 
in  the  Guiana  forest. 

Whether  it  is  a  good  thing  for  the  Indian  that 
he  has  accommodated  himself  so  perfectly  to  his 
surroundings  is  doubtful.  Apart  from  outside 
influences  he  would  go  on  for  ages,  making  little 
progress,  and  hardly  increasing  in  numbers.  The 
land  could  never  be  densely  populated,  as  the 
number  of  inhabitants  depends  on  the  amount 
of  food,  and  this  again  depends  on  the  number 
of  huntsmen.  The  man  of  the  woods  keeps  no 


44  tN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

domestic  animals  for  food — as  for  his  bread 
(cassava),  it  could  hardly  support  life  without 
meat.  He  is,  therefore,  almost  as  much  a  beast 
ol  prey  as  the  jaguar.  Every  day  fishing  and 
hunting  excursions  have  to  be  made,  and  the 
experiences  of  all  past  generations  empower  him 
to  track  the  deer,  tapir,  and  labba  in  such  a  way 
that  he  is  nearly  always  successful. 

Like  the  wild  animals  the  Indian  retires  before 
the  white  man.  He  cannot  accommodate  himself 
to  a  new  environment,  and  therefore  moves  on. 
Where,  as  in  the  West  India  Islands,  he  was 
prevented  from  migrating,  he  became  extinct. 
Unlike  the  negro,  who  appears  to  accommodate 
himself  to  even  great  changes,  the  Indian  dies 
when  his  environment  is  altered.  The  histories 
of  the  Spanish  conquest  give  most  horrid  details 
of  what  was  called  by  the  new-comers  obstinacy. 
Rather  than  labour  on  plantations  or  in  mines, 
great  numbers  committed  suicide,  while  others 
were  flogged  to  death  or  executed,  because  they 
would  not  submit.  To  die  rather  than  become 
a  slave  shows  perhaps  greater  nobility  than  does 
abject  submission,  but  it  is  not  so  conducive  to 
perpetuation  of  the  race.  Savage  communities 
generally  consist  of  two  classes,  masters  and  slaves, 
and  every  man,  woman,  and  child  must  belong 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  45 

to  one  of  these.  The  South  American  Indian, 
however,  has  never  adopted  such  a  system.  In 
early  times  there  was  a  kind  of  association  for 
mutual  defence,  under  a  war  chief,  elected  for  the 
purpose,  but  this  was  only  a  temporary  arrange- 
ment. The  chieftain  was  not  any  the  less  bound 
to  hunt  and  fish  for  his  wife  or  family — his  benab 
was  not  a  palace — nor  had  he  any  servants.  We 
read  of  Indian  slaves  among  the  Caribs,  but  it 
is  doubtful  whether  this  innovation  was  not  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  Spanish  conquerors  offered  suffi- 
cient inducements  to  prevent  this  warlike  people 
eating  their  prisoners.  When  a  lot  of  desirable 
trinkets  could  be  obtained  for  a  captive,  it  might 
easily  follow  that  he  would  be  reserved  for  sale. 
The  Carib,  who  is  now  almost  extinct,  was 
an  example  of  a  more  powerful  animal  than  the 
gentle  Arawak.  At  enmity  with  the  other  tribes, 
he  could  not  settle  on  a  particular  hunting  ground, 
and  therefore  was  a  man-eater.  It  is  doubtful, 
however,  whether  this  was  not  the  result  of  neces- 
sity, rather  than  choice,  as  he  would  rarely  admit 
to  his  Dutch  or  English  friends,  that  he  had  such 
a  depraved  appetite.  The  very  fact  that  a  little 
shame  was  felt  shows  that  cannibalism  was  only 
exceptional  and  not,  as  was  said  by  the  Spaniards, 
so  common  as  to  be  almost  universal.  For  an 


46  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

animal  to  habitually  prey  upon  his  own  species 
would  be  such  a  great  drawback  as  to  be  virtually 
impossible  in  any  harmonious  natural  arrange- 
ment, and  we  may  therefore  consider  cannibalism 
as  altogether  exceptional  even  in  the  country 
which  was  called  Cannibalor  Terra  by  its  dis- 
coverers. 

To  consider  man  as  one  of  the  species  of  living 
things  in  the  forest,  instead  of  the  ruler  over 
everything,  may  perhaps  shock  the  sensibilities  of 
the  ultra  conservative.  In  Europe  and  North 
America  we  see  him  carrying  on  such  gigantic 
works  that  he  seems  to  be  a  monarch  indeed,  but 
here,  where  nature  is  so  much  more  rampant,  it 
is  the  tree  which  comes  to  the  front — everything 
else  seems  subordinate.  Men  are  few,  quadrupeds 
scarce,  and  it  is  only  when  we  come  to  insects 
and  plants  that  we  find  a  dense  population. 
These  latter  are  everywhere,  mutually  utilising  each 
other  for  their  own  purposes,  and  entirely  ignoring 
the  fact  that  there  is  such  a  personage  as  the 
"  Lord  of  Creation."  If  it  came  to  a  dispute  as 
to  their  respective  powers,  no  doubt  the  forest 
giant  would  have  the  best  of  it.  The  Indian 
chops  him  down  now  and  then,  but  only  to  make 
room  for  his  offspring,  that  rise  with  tenfold 
energy.  An  ugly  clearing  has  been  made,  which 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  47 

is  unsightly  for  a  time,  but  this  is  soon  filled 
up  and  obliterated  as  if  it  had  never  beea 

The  Indian  hardly  cares  to  fight  with  his 
great  rival.  He  chooses  a  place  for  his  shelter 
on  the  sand-reef,  where  trees  are  few  and  easily 
kept  down.  Even  when  he  makes  a  clearing  for 
his  wife's  cassava  field,  it  is  kept  open  only  for 
two  or  three  years.  When  the  forest  commences 
its  grand  work  of  regaining  this  little  portion  of 
its  domain,  the  red  man  finds  the  labour  too 
arduous,  and  prefers  to  make  another  clearing. 
The  richer  the  soil  the  more  difficult  it  becomes 
to  make  any  headway,  and  as  cassava  flourishes 
only  on  the  most  fertile  spots,  and  soon  exhausts 
these,  the  struggle  would  be  almost  useless,  even 
if  it  were  possible. 

The  habitation  of  the  Indian  is  a  very  simple 
structure — only  a  shelter  from  the  rain,  raised  on  a 
few  sticks.  The  largest  houses  are  well-built,  ob- 
long sheds,  thatched  with  palm  leaves,  under  which 
are  hung  the  hammocks,  that  serve  for  both  chair 
and  bed,  being  in  fact  the  only  real  article  of 
furniture.  A  shed,  or  benab  as  it  is  called,  can 
be  easily  erected  anywhere  in  the  forest.  When 
the  Indians  are  travelling  a  temporary  shelter  is 
put  up  for  the  night  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  even 
a  good-sized  dwelling  can  be  erected  in  a  day. 


48  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  Indian  towns,  or  even 
villages,  are  practically  unknown.  A  settlement 
may  be  kept  up  for  twenty  years  or  even  longer, 
and  again  it  may  be  abandoned  at  any  time. 
For  some  reason  or  other,  perhaps  from  an  impulse 
which  is  more  instinctive  than  anything  else,  the 
inhabitants  leave  one  creek  and  go  to  another. 
All  their  movables  can  be  carried  in  their  canoes, 
or,  if  necessary,  on  the  backs  of  the  women.  It 
almost  seems  as  if  their  absolute  necessaries  are 
exactly  fitted  to  their  means  of  conveyance.  A 
hammock,  an  earthen  pot,  a  cassava  plate,  strainer 
and  sifter,  and  one  or  two  water  bottles,  make  up  a 
load  which  is  by  no  means  light,  but  which  as  nearly 
as  possible  reaches  the  point  where  only  the  "  last 
straw "  is  wanting.  Of  course  the  man  carries 
nothing  except  his  weapons  and  the  few  orna- 
ments he  has  on.  His  wife  would  despise  him  if 
he  should  demean  himself  by  helping  her  in  what 
belongs  to  her  special  province,  as  he  would 
equally  resent  her  bearing  his  weapons.  If  there 
is  a  baby,  the  woman  carries  it  in  a  little  hammock 
slung  over  one  shoulder,  so  that  it  comes  in  front, 
and  does  not  interfere  with  the  load,  which  is 
borne  on  the  back,  and  supported  by  a  band 
across  the  forehead. 

If  it  be  true  that   "the  boy  is   father  to  the 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  49 

man  "  it  must  be  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the 
naturalist  to  know  something  of  the  Indian's  child- 
hood. His  mother  retires  to  the  forest  and  brings 
him  forth  without  assistance,  returning  home  to 
her  duties  as  if  nothing  particular  had  happened. 
What  she  feels  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  we  may 
presume  that  the  instinct  of  maternity  is  very  strong, 
and  overcomes  everything  else.  Child-bearing  is 
a  matter  of  course  to  her,  one  of  the  peculiar 
duties  of  a  woman,  in  which  she  neither  requires 
help  nor  would  accept  it  if  offered.  Her  husband 
smiles  in  his  quiet  way  when  he  sees  the  little  one, 
and  calmly  prepares  to  do  what  he  considers  his 
duty.  He  must  not  hunt,  shoot,  or  fell  trees  for 
some  time,  because  there  is  an  invisible  connection 
between  himself  and  the  babe,  whose  spirit  accom- 
panies him  in  all  his  wanderings,  and  might  be 
shot,  chopped,  or  otherwise  injured  unwittingly. 
He  therefores  retires  to  his  hammock,  some- 
times holding  the  little  one,  and  receives  the 
congratulations  of  his  friends,  as  well  as  the 
advice  of  the  elder  members  of  the  com- 
munity. If  he  has  occasion  to  travel  he  must 
not  go  very  far,  as  the  child  spirit  might  get 
tired,  and  in  passing  a  creek  must  first  lay 
across  it  a  little  bridge,  or  bend  a  leaf  into  the 
shape  of  a  canoe  for  his  companion.  His 'wife 

4 


So  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

looks  after  the  cassava  bread  and  pepper-pot, 
and  assists  the  others  in  reminding  her  husband 
of  his  duties.  No  matter  that  they  have  to  go 
without  meat  for  a  few  days,  the  child's  spirit 
must  be  preserved  from  harm.  In  this,  as  in 
many  other  things,  the  Indian  wife  gets  on  better 
than  her  more  civilised  sister.  She  knows  her 
own  duties  and  does  them,  never  expecting  any 
indulgence  or  assistance  from  her  husband.  He 
does  not  trespass  on  her  domain,  nor  she  on  his, 
and  consequently  they  rarely,  if  ever,  have  any 
disputes.  The  great  drawback  to  all  this,  from 
one  point  of  view,  is  the  lack  of  sympathy.  This 
feeling  is  one  of  those  which  is  not  only  wanting 
in  the  Indian,  but  also  in  other  uncultivated  races. 
It  is  obviously  the  product  of  the  higher  evolution. 
When  the  child  is  two  or  three  days'  old  his 
mother  goes  to  work  in  the  cassava  field,  carrying 
him  at  her  breast,  in  his  little  hammock.  The 
little  one  hardly  ever  cries,  nor  does  he  give  nearly 
so  much  trouble  as  the  European  baby.  Even 
when  sick,  that  cross  and  fretful  disposition  so 
conspicuous  elsewhere  is  almost  unknown.  When 
dangerously  ill  the  Piaiman  is  called  in,  who 
commences  by  charging  the  father  with  some 
neglect  of  duty  as  the  cause.  He  had  gone 
hunting  too  soon  and  shot  the  child's  spirit,  or 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  51 

wounded  it  in  chopping  down  a  tree.  Something 
must  be  done,  and  the  father  must  do  it ;  he  has 
unwittingly  done  the  wrong,  and  will  have  to 
make  reparation  in  some  way.  By  direction  of 
this  half  wizard,  half  physician,  he  therefore  cuts 
several  gashes  on  his  breast,  allows  the  blood  to 
flow  into  a  gourd,  and,  after  jnixing  it  with  water, 
gives  it  to  the  babe  as  a  medicine. 

Here  we  probably  get  the  first  beginnings  of 
what  has  formed  such  an  important  part  of  almost 
every  religion — sacrifice.  We  injure  others,  and 
must  suffer  in  return.  Even  races  very  high  in 
the  scale  of  civilisation  cannot  understand  that 
when  something  is  done  it  can  never  be  recalled 
or  obliterated.  It  is  again  the  germ  of  that 
passion  which  leads  to  quarrels  and  fights,  battles 
and  wars.  There  is  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  to 
the  animal  part  of  our  nature  when  we  resent  or 
revenge  an  insult.  "You  hurt  me  and  I'll  hurt 
you,"  is  the  motto  of  the  true  savage,  but  the 
American  Indian  has  gone  a  step  farther.  If  he 
has  unwittingly  wronged  his  child  he  is  ready  to 
make  every  possible  reparation,  no  matter  what 
the  cost  is  to  himself. 

The  Indian  baby  soon  begins  to  use  his  limbs. 
His  mother  lets  him  sprawl  on  the  sand  until  he 
learns  to  creep,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  jiggers 


52  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

abound,  and  that  they  will  penetrate  the  skin  by 
hundreds,  and  produce  unsightly  ulcers  and  even 
dangerous  sores.  Poor  little  fellow !  he  looks 
miserable  enough  as  he  lies  naked  on  the  bare 
sand,  and  learns  that  his  finger  nails  were  made 
to  scratch  himself  when  what  may  be  called  the 
"sweet  itching"  is  particularly  troublesome. 
Occasionally,  his  mother  makes  a  raid  on  the 
pests,  picking  them  out  one  by  one  with  a  palm 
needle,  or  brass  pin  if  she  has  one.  But,  notwith- 
standing these  intermittent  operations,  and  even 
as  a  result  of  the  punctures,  the  child  is  more 
generally  covered  with  sores  and  scars  produced 
by  sand  and  dirt.  Sometimes  these  ulcers  are 
alive  with  fly  larvae,  and  have  to  be  dressed  with 
hot  ashes,  which  causes  much  pain,  but  even  then 
the  child  does  not  scream. 

Morning  and  evening  he  is  taken  down  to  the 
creek  and  encouraged  to  throw  his  limbs  about 
until  able  to  swim,  which  art  he  has  often  acquired 
before  he  can  walk  alone.  If  at  all  backward  on 
his  feet  he  is  stimulated  by  the  application  of 
hucu  ants.  Taking  one  of  these  virulent  creatures 
between  his  forefinger  and  thumb,  his  father  lets  it 
bite  the  little  crawler  until  he  strives  with  might 
and  main  to  get  away.  The  sight  of  one  of  the 
ants  makes  him  get  up  and  toddle  away,  soon 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  53 

after  which  he  is  running  everywhere  about  the 
settlement,  stealing  the  cassava  bread  or  picking 
bits  of  meat  from  the  barbecue.  He  is  never 
beaten  by  his  parents,  and  hardly  interfered  with 
in  any  way,  even  when  he  plays  tricks  on  the 
dogs  and  other  half-domesticated  animals,  which 
have  free  range  of  the  settlement.  No  one  cares 
if  he  injures  them — he  is  to  be  a  huntsman,  and 
like  most  other  boys  has  cruel  instincts. 

When  a  little  older  his  father  makes  him  a  little 
wood-skin  canoe  and  a  pretty  ornamented  paddle, 
in  which  he  goes  wandering  up  and  down  the 
creek.  He  is  also  provided  with  a  bow  and 
arrows  suited  to  his  height  and  strength,  with 
which  he  shoots  at  the  dogs,  monkeys,  and 
parrots,  and  drives  them  to  take  shelter  in  the 
neighbouring  bushes.  Not  being  confined  in  any 
way,  these  tame  animals  can  easily  hide  and 
return  when  he  gets  tired.  Then  he  goes  with 
his  father  and  helps  to  lay  the  spring  hooks  on 
the  creek,  or  assists  in  hunting  deer  and  labba. 
He  goes  to  no  school,  nor  does  he  receive  what  is 
generally  considered  as  an  education.  Yet,  every 
day  he  is  learning  lessons  which  will  be  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  him  in  after  life.  There  is 
only  one  profession  for  him,  and  he  can  never  know 
too  much  about  that.  His  father  tells  him  but 


54  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

little,  leaving  the  impression  to  be  made  by  ex- 
ample rather  than  by  precept. 

Few  children  are  to  be  seen  at  the  Indian 
settlements,  and  therefore  the  boy  has  hardly  any 
companions.  The  girls  are  women  in  everything 
but  age  and  size,  and  follow  their  mothers ;  they 
take  no  part  in  the  boys'  games  nor  have  they 
apparently  any  of  their  own.  Naturally  they  learn 
the  duties  of  the  women  as  their  brothers  do  those 
of  the  men.  Like  their  parents,  even  the  boys  and 
girls  take  life  seriously,  and  there  is  nothing  like 
the  romping  so  common  among  the  children  of 
more  civilised  races.  Nevertheless  "  boys  will  be 
boys  "  »ven  among  the  Guiana  Indians,  and  have 
a  few  games.  Most  of  these  are  more  or  less 
connected  with  their  future  duties,  such  as 
shooting  and  hunting.  Among  them  is  one 
which  can  be  played  by  four  or  more,  and  is 
a  life-like  imitation  of  a  labba  hunt.  One  boy 
represents  the  labba,  a  second  the  dog,  and  the 
third  and  fourth  two  huntsmen,  one  of  which 
takes  up  his  station  in  a  little  canoe  on  the 
creek,  while  the  other  takes  the  so-called  dog 
and  enters  the  forest.  The  "  labba "  is  given  a 
little  time  to  hide,  and  then  the  hunt  begins,  the 
"  dog "  barking  and  the  huntsman  calling  to  the 
other  in  the  canoe  as  the  quarry  doubles  in  and 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST. 


55 


out  among  the  bushes.  Presently  the  supposed 
animal  makes  for  the  creek,  plunges  in  and  dives 
under  water,  followed  by  the  "dog"  and  hunts- 
man, who  with  his  assistant  in  the  canoe,  tries  to 
lay  hold  of  the  diver.  For  some  minutes  the  water 
is  all  in  a  commotion  as  the  three  naked  urchins 
swim  about,  the  "  labba  "  doubling  in  every  direc- 
tion, now  under  water  in  one  place,  and  suddenly 
rising  to  the  surface  in  another,  the  boy  in  the 
canoe  paddling  with  all  his  might  until  the 
supposed  game  is  taken  and  the  play  ended. 

Ball  playing  is  carried  on  by  men  rather  than 
boys,  but  there  is  a  game  of  shuttlecock  sometimes 
engaged  in  by  the  youngsters.  Corn  cobs  are 
stripped,  and  three  feathers  stuck  into  one  end. 
The  object  of  each  player  is  to  throw  his  shuttle- 
cock as  high  as  possible,  so  that  it  may  gyrate  the 
longest.  In  a  village  some  five  hundred  miles 
from  the  coast  children  have  been  seen  shooting 
at  marks  with  home-made  cross-bows,  but  this 
weapon  has  obviously  been  adopted  from  the 
early  voyagers,  as  it  appears  to  have  been  un- 
known to  the  aborigines. 

Whatever  semblance  of  teaching  the  boy  receives 
from  his  father  is  little  more  than  the  mode  of 
handling  a  gun,  bow,  or  blow-pipe,  and  even  that 
is  learnt  more  by  imitation  and  practice  than  by 


56  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

precept.  The  only  attempt  he  makes  at  writing 
or  drawing  is  to  scratch  figures  on  the  sand  with 
a  piece  of  stick  like  those  of  his  mother's  bead 
apron,  or  conventional  outlines  of  animals  such  as 
may  be  seen  on  the  two  or  three  benches  which 
are  used  to  squat  upon  and  keep  the  feet  raised 
above  the  sand  and  its  multitude  of  jiggers.  He 
learns  the  names  of  the  game  animals,  birds  and 
useful  plants,  by  hearing  his  father  talk  of  them, 
and  their  uses  by  practical  experience.  From 
that  tree  his  bark  canoe  was  peeled,  from  this  kind 
his  father's  dug-out  was  made  ;  here  is  the  bow- 
wood,  and  there  that  from  which  he  got  his  paddles 
When  walking  through  the  forest  he  sees  his  fathei 
bend  down  a  twig  here  and  there  as  a  guide  on  his 
return,  and  the  boy  does  the  same.  Then  his  eyes 
begin  to  appreciate  the  various  things  which  go  to 
make  up  a  knowledge  of  bush  travelling,  such  as 
the  lay  of  the  land,  the  watersheds  of  particular 
creeks,  and  certain  prominent  trees.  Like  great 
public  buildings  some  immense  forest  trees  stand 
out  prominently  above  the  others  and  become 
landmarks,  and  others  get  known  from  certain 
events  which  happened  in  connection  with  them. 
Among  the  roots  of  this  great  mora  his  father 
caught  an  acourie,  and  in  that  hollow  log  a  labba. 
The  blasted  trees  half-strangled  by  wild  figs  are 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  57 

favourite  resorts  for  parrots  and  toucans,  and 
underneath  the  saouari-nut  tree  he  may  look  for 
the  footprints  of  many  game  animals.  By  and 
by  he  finds  out  the  seasons  when  nuts  and  fruit 
ripen,  and  in  connection  with  these  when  he  ought 
to  go  hunting  or  fishing  in  particular  localities. 
Like  other  boys  he  has  a  liking  for  many  wild 
fruits  and  nuts,  and  knows  where  to  look  for  the 
fat  caterpillars  which  infest  the  leaf-buds  of  so 
many  palms.  These  he  eats  with  a  great  relish,  as 
he  does  also  certain  chrysalids  found  in  the  cassava 
field,  cracking  the  latter  as  an  English  boy  would 
hazel  nuts. 

Now  he  is  given  a  name,  which  hitherto  he  had 
not  possessed,  nor  even  yet  does  it  appear  that 
there  is  any  particular  use  for  it  as  it  is  carefully 
suppressed.  He  will  still  be  called  "boy,"  and 
later  "  friend "  or  "  brother,"  never  by  his  proper 
appellation,  which  is  a  secret  to  all  but  his  imme- 
diate relations.  It  is  so  difficult  to  get  at  these 
names  that  travellers  who  inquire  are  generally 
put  off  with  some  general  term  of  relationship  such 
as  father,  wife,  or  son.  The  name  is  so  sacred  that 
the  Indian  becomes  sullen  when  you  insist  upon 
learning  it,  and  the  only  time  we  ever  saw  one  of 
them  in  a  passion  was  after  our  asking  a  number 
of  questions  in  regard  to  the  matter  and  refusing 


58  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

to  be    put    off   with    evasions.     It    is    generally 
supposed    that   the   name    is    considered  so  inti- 
mately  connected   with    the   personality   that   to 
know  it  is  as  bad  as  our  ancestors  thought  it  to 
let  a  witch  have  a  lock  of  their  hair.     If  generally 
known  perhaps  some  enemy  might  get  hold  of  it 
and  do  the  owner  much  harm.     Whether  there  is 
any  other  superstition  connected  with  the  name  is 
doubtful  as  the  whole  subject  is  so  very  obscure. 
It  appears  that  boys  are  given  the  names  of  game 
animals,  and  girls  those  of  trees  and  birds,  but  we 
make  this  statement  with  some  hesitation,  as  on 
this   matter  we    have    certainly    been    purposely 
deceived   on  more  than  one  occasion.     Again,  it 
might  be  suspected,  that  something  like  the  totem 
system  of  the   North  Americans  exists  here,  but 
this   is    also   obscure.     We   have   heard   of  cases 
where  an  Indian  has  been  debarred  from  killing  a 
certain  animal  at  particular  times,  as,  for  example, 
when  a  child  is  born,  and  suspect  that  this  is  con- 
nected with  his  name ;  but  we  can  do  no  more  than 
put  it  as  a  problem  to  be  solved,  if  possible,  in  the 
future.     Writers  on  these  people  generally  assume 
that  they  have  reasons  for  everything  they  do,  but 
this  is  hardly  ever  the  case.     Like  children,  they 
do  many  things  from  impulse,  and  are  governed 
by  very  powerful  instincts  for  which  neither  they 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  59 

themselves  nor  any  one  else  can  find  reason  or 
excuse.  The  fallacy,  post  hocy  ergo  propter  hoc> 
is  engrained  upon  their  minds,  and  if  we  could 
possibly  get  at  the  origin  of  most  of  their  customs, 
we  should  no  doubt  find  that  they  originated  in 
something  easily  explainable.  In  the  absence  of 
such  evidence,  however,  we  are  entirely  in  the  dark, 
and  it  becomes  useless  to  attempt  anything  like 
explanations  of  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
these  things.  Uncivilised  races  everywhere  have 
manners  and  customs  for  which  they  never 
attempt  to  give  reasons.  Perhaps  some  plausible 
explanation  may  be  given  to  a  stranger,  but  in 
many  cases  it  has  never  occurred  to  the  people 
themselves  that  a  reason  was  necessary. 

Very  little  gossip  is  carried  on  at  the  Indian 
settlements.  Outside  their  own  little  community 
they  have  no  interests  whatever,  and  therefore  all 
the  conversation  is  connected  with  their  personal 
experiences.  Women  talk  less  than  men,  as  they 
have  no  hunting  or  fishing  exploits  to  recount 
This  reminds  us  that  the  Indian  female  differs  in 
many  other  respects  from  her  civilised  sister  than 
in  holding  her  tongue.  She  hardly  ever  wears 
ornaments — these  belong  to  her  husband.  He 
paints  and  decorates  himself  from  head  to  foot, 
while  his  wife  has  only  her  pretty  bead  apron. 


60  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

His  feather  crown  and  belt  glow  with  colour  and 
show  very  good  taste,  and  even  his  paint  is  not 
glaringly  discordant.  Necklaces  of  peccaries' 
teeth  and  seeds,  with  tufts  of  toucans'  breasts 
hanging  down  the  back  ;  bracelets  and  anklets 
of  beetles'  wings  ;  and  belts  of  rattling  seeds,  all 
go  to  decorate  the  man,  leaving  the  woman  without 
even  a  floral  wreath.  Sexual  selection  appears  here 
as  in  most  of  the  lower  animals  to  come  from  the 
female  side  ;  the  male  decorates  himself,  dances, 
boasts  of  his  prowess  in  hunting,  and  plays  Othello 
as  a  matter  of  course,  while  the  female  tacitly 
approves  and  gives  him  her  homage. 

Life  is  a  serious  thing  to  the  Indian  boy.  He  is 
ambitious  to  become  a  man  as  soon  as  possible. 
Around  him  he  sees  skilful  hunters  and  fishermen, 
and  wants  to  be  like  them.  His  father  tells  him  to 
wait — he  is  not  yet  a  man,  nor  can  he  become  one 
until  he  has  gone  through  the  proper  ordeal.  Ol 
course,  he  wants  to  do  this  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
is  proud  to  show  how  well  he  can  shoot,  paddle, 
and  chop  down  trees.  Then,  to  prove  his  capability 
of  bearing  pain  he  allows  manourie  ants  to  bite 
him,  or  cuts  gashes  on  his  arms  and  breast,  into 
which  he  rubs  the  acrid  juice  of  a  beena  in  imita- 
tion of  his  father  and  the  other  men. 

This  reminds  us  that  but  little  is  known  of  this 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  61 

peculiar  custom  of  inoculating  with  the  juices  of 
acrid  plants.  The  Creoles  of  Surinam  have 
apparently  adopted  from  the  Indians,  through  the 
bush  negroes,  a  supposed  protection  against  snake 
bites,  which  they  confidently  believe  not  only  to 
prevent  these  venomous  creatures  from  biting  them, 
but  also  to  ward  off  any  evil  effects  should  they 
do  so.  The  principal  ingredient  used  is  the  pounded 
head  of  a  labaria,  or  rattlesnake,  mixed  with  the 
juices  of  certain  plants,  and  this  is  generally  rubbed 
into  an  incision  on  the  wrist  or  fore-arm.  No  doubt 
the  confidence  resulting  from  perfect  faith  in  this 
remedy  enables  the  Creole  to  handle  the  snake  with 
impunity,  while  cases  of  recovery  from  bites,  which 
are  by  no  means  rare,  add  to  its  reputation.  What 
the  Indian  thinks  of  his  beenas,  however,  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  say  ;  possibly  he  never  thinks 
at  all,  but  simply  uses  them  because  his  ancestors 
have  done  so  for  ages.  In  a  general  way  he  believes 
that  the  fact  of  his  having  been  inoculated,  for 
example,  with  the  jaguar  beena,  promotes  his 
success  in  hunting  that  animal,  but  how  it  can 
do  so  is  another  matter.  It  has  been  suggested 
that  he  thinks  it  makes  him  invisible,  less  con- 
spicuous, or  perhaps  covers  his  scent,  thus  allow- 
ing him  to  approach  within  a  very  short  distance 
of  his  game  without  alarming  it  As  this  is  a  very 


62  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

important  matter  to  the  Indian,  who  is  by  no  means 
a  good  shot  at  a  long  range,  he  would  naturally 
attach  great  .importance  to  anything  that  would 
help  him  towards  this  end. 

Near  the  settlement  are  always  planted  a  few 
beenas.  A  stranger,  when  he  sees  a  clump  of  the 
scarlet  amaryllis  (Hippeastrum  equestre),  or  a  pretty 
collection  of  caladiums  with  different  markings  on 
their  arrow-shaped  leaves,  would  think  the  wild  man 
of  the  forest  had  some  sense  of  beauty  in  form  and 
colour.  He  is  certainly  not  wanting  in  taste,  as 
may  be  seen  from  the  arrangement  of  colours  in 
his  feather  crown,  but  even  if  this  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  selection  of  these  beautiful  plants  in 
some  bygone  age,  it  does  not  appear  to  exist 
to-day.  An  Indian  wears  no  floral  garlands,  nor 
does  he  seem  to  appreciate  plants  at  all,  otherwise 
than  for  their  utility.  However,  they  are  there — 
flowers  enlivening  the  bare  sand  with  a  fiery  glow, 
and  leaves  mottled  with  white,  pink,  or  crimson — 
ready  for  use  if  the  hunter  fails  in  shooting  a  tapir 
or  labba.  The  poor  fellow  comes  home  much  de- 
pressed— his  virtue  has  gone  out  of  him.  Years 
before  he  had  been  inoculated  for  the  jaguar,  deer, 
all  the  cavies,  and  even  the  alligator — perhaps  the 
charm  has  worn  out.  Going  to  his  clump  of  beenas 
he  takes  up  a  bulb  or  tuber,  and  after  making 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  63 

several  gashes  over  the  breast  and  arms,  rubs  in 
the  acrid  juice  without  hesitation.  Although  the 
operation  is  very  painful  he  does  not  even  wince, 
but  seems  to  glory  in  his  stoicism.  Next  day  he 
has  regained  his  confidence,  goes  forth  into  the 
forest,  is  successful,  and  of  course  puts  everything 
to  the  credit  of  the  beena. 

In  addition  to  these  plants  there  is  another 
beena  which  has  to  be  used  before  our  boy  can 
arrive  at  manhood.  This  seems  to  be  a  general 
charm  to  make  him  successful  in  hunting  and 
fishing,  as  well  as  in  all  undertakings  worthy  of 
the  future  head  of  a  family.  Here,  again,  we  are 
met  by  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  the  use  of 
such  an  instrument.  Of  the  size  and  length  of  a 
coach  whip  without  its  handle,  the  nose  beena  looks 
as  if  intended  as  an  instrument  of  punishment. 
And  so  it  is,  in  a  way,  but  not  as  might  be  at  first 
sight  supposed.  It  is  well  greased  with  the  fat  of 
palm  caterpillars,  the  thin  end  pushed  up  one  of 
the  nostrils  into  the  air  passage,  and  drawn  out 
through  the  mouth.  The  boy  endures  the  pain 
and  irritation  without  flinching,  and  after  giving 
this  and  other  proofs  of  his  endurance  is  no  longer 
a  child. 

There  is  one  other  manly  accomplishment  which 
the  young  Indian  has  to  learn,  and  that  is  to  drink 


64  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

piwaree — a  fermented  liquor  made  from  chewed 
cassava  bread.  For  want  of  other  vessels  this 
drink  is  generally  made  in  a  "dug-out"  canoe, 
and  when  the  time  comes  for  the  drinking  bout 
the  quantity  disposed  of  by  a  few  men  is 
astonishing.  Calabashes  full  are  handed  round 
by  the  women,  and  the  men  appear  to  emulate 
each  other  in  the  number  they  take.  Gallon  after 
gallon  disappears  down  their  throats,  and  every 
now  and  again  one  goes  outside  to  eject  what  he 
has  just  taken.  Altogether,  these  orgies  are  a  blot 
on  the  otherwise  admirable  character  of  the  red 
man,  and  show  up  his  one  weak  point — a  taste  for 
drink  and  an  intense  craving  for  the  pleasures  of 
intoxication. 

However,  we  will  not  dwell  upon  this  unpleasant 
subject,  but  come  to  the  climax  of  the  youth's 
ambition.  He  cannot  be  altogether  a  man  until 
he  has  a  wife.  With  a  feather  crown  on  his  head, 
a  necklace  of  peccaries'  teeth  round  his  neck,  and 
perhaps  a  feather  belt  below  his  waist,  he  struts 
about  glorying  in  the  fact  that  he  is  no  longer  a 
child.  The  young  girls  look  on  him  with  admira- 
tion ;  they  have  seen  his  bearing  under  the  ordeal. 
Very  little  courting  is  necessary :  the  couple  agree, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  bride  hangs  her 
hammock  beside  that  of  her  husband  the  same 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  65 

evening.  There  may  be  some  arrangement 
between  the  parents,  but  very  often  this  is  dis- 
pensed with  altogether,  and  the  union  is  hardly 
noticed. 

Having  followed  the  Indian  child  to  manhood, 
we  can  now  leave  him.  He  has  attained  the 
position  for  which  he  has  been  striving,  and  can 
now  go  on  with  the  two  duties  which  every  living 
thing  has  to  perform,  first,  to  struggle  for  food, 
and,  second,  to  see  that  his  line  does  not  become 
extinct.  During  the  last  century  his  old  environ- 
ment has  been  somewhat  changed,  so  that  pro- 
gressive development  is  almost  arrested.  A  great 
factor  in  evolution,  war,  has  come  to  an  end,  and 
although  he  still  has  to  hunt  and  fish,  he  no  longer 
fights  with  his  fellow  man.  This  condition,  which, 
at  first  sight,  might  be  looked  upon  with  com- 
placency, is  evidently  unnatural,  and  its  results  are 
shown  in  deterioration  and  gradual  extermination 
of  the  race.  The  Indian  cannot  hold  his  own  in 
presence  of  the  white  man,  but  retires  into  the 
forest,  where,  having  no  incentive  to  do  more  than 
work  for  his  daily  food,  he  dies  out.  Man,  like  other 
animals  and  even  plants,  has  to  fight  in  some  way 
or  other,  it  may  be  with  the  elements  or  it  may  be 
with  his  fellows,  and  he  who  has  had  the  most  diffi- 
culties is  the  strongest  and  fittest  to  survive.  If 

5 


66  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

happiness,  as  we  said  before,  consists  in  perfect 
accommodation  to  the  environment,  then  the  Indian 
is  the  happiest  of  men ;  but  this  naturally  brings  up 
the  question  whether  it  is  good  for  man  to  be 
happy.  Nature  answers  most  emphatically,  No  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  tells  us  to  strive  for  its 
attainment.  If  it  were  possible  to  conceive  of 
the  attainment  of  perfection,  with  nothing  left 
to  hope  for,  we  could  only  think  of  such  a  state 
as  the  extreme  of  dulness.  Even  if  we  lost  every 
desire  and  aspiration  and  could  settle  down  to  a 
state  of  do-nothing  for  our  life-times,  it  would  still 
be  a  particularly  unenviable  condition.  Even  rest 
is  the  complement  of  labour,  the  one  is  only 
possible  in  connection  with  the  other. 

It  seems  pitiful  that  the  Guiana  Indian  should 
be  exterminated,  but,  nevertheless,  this  end  is 
certain.  Unless  the  whole  country  were  abandoned 
by  the  European  he  could  never  again  come  to 
the  front,  and  even  if  such  an  unlikely  thing  ever 
came  to  pass,  the  consequences  of  present  inter- 
ference would  probably  affect  the  result.  During  the 
last  few  years  the  gold  prospector  has  been  intruding 
within  the  Indian's  domains,  with  the  result  that  he 
retires  farther  and  farther  away,  often  carrying  with 
him  the  germs  of  diseases  unknown  to  his  ancestors. 
Formerly,  he  had  remedies  for  all  sicknesses  with 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST.  67 

which  he  was  acquainted,  and  often  showed  con- 
siderable knowledge  of  the  virtues  of  certain 
medicines — now  small-pox,  syphilis,  and  the  evil 
effects  of  rum  have  put  all  this  out.  It  has  taken 
him  ages  to  learn  what  remedies  are  most  suitable 
for  his  peculiar  diseases,  and  as  he  cannot  learn 
from  books,  and  refuses  to  take  advice,  there  is 
absolutely  nothing  to  be  done.  Where  once  the 
Indian  families  were  enumerated  by  thousands 
there  is  now  not  a  single  individual,  and  a  few 
years  make  great  differences  even  in  the  far 
interior.  Villages  where  once  the  traveller  found 
a  hearty  welcome  can  hardly  be  distinguished  from 
the  surrounding  forest,  not  even  a  parrot  remaining 
to  speak  the  language  of  the  lost  tribe. 


III. 

THE  INDIAN  HUNTER. 

WE  have  already  compared  the  man  of  the  forest 
to  a  beast  of  prey.  His  main  life-work  is  hunting 
for  meat,  his  education  from  childhood  the 
training  of  a  hunter  and  fisherman,  his  very 
existence  depends  upon  success.  In  one  tribe 
where  there  is  a  marriage  ceremony  the  bride- 
groom is  counselled  to  take  care  of  his  wife  and 
daily  to  go  hunting  and  fishing ;  the  wife  in  her 
turn  is  told  to  be  faithful  and  to  place  meat  and 
drink  before  him  when  he  comes  home.  The 
man  must  find  the  meat  and  the  woman  is  bound 
to  cook  it. 

Before  a  child  is  born  many  things  have  to 
be  done  or  avoided  to  prevent  mishap  to  the 
little  one.  The  father  must  not  hunt  certain 
game  for  fear  that  the  coming  babe  should 
resemble  the  animals  in  any  way.  It  might  be 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER  69 

as  thin  as  the  agouti  or  have  a  mouth  like  the 
labba.  When  fishing  with  the  haiari  poison  he 
must  prevent  trouble  by  rubbing  some  of  the 
plant  on  his  shins,  otherwise  the  fish  will  sink 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pool  instead  of  floating  on 
the  surface  ;  if  his  wife  were  not  child-bearing  this 
would  not  be  necessary.  There  seems  to  be  a 
natural  instinct  which  tells  him  that  the  child  is 
a  part  of  himself. 

When  the  little  one  comes,  not  only  has  the 
father  to  take  many  precautions,  but  the  mother 
must  avoid  anything  likely  to  interfere  with 
the  success  of  her  boy.  He  must  be  strong,  and 
therefore  she  is  prohibited  from  eating  the  flesh 
of  delicate  animals,  such  as  turtle  and  iguana, 
but  the  meat  of  the  wild  hog  is  suitable  because 
this  beast  is  strong  and  fierce,  as  is  also  that  of 
the  deer  because  it  is  swift. 

The  boy  learns  to  be  cunning,  silent,  and  swift, 
so  that  he  may  stalk  his  game.  He  shoots  to 
kill,  and  therefore  must  get  as  close  as  possible. 
Then,  as  he  grows  older,  his  weapons  have  to 
be  kept  in  perfect  order;  much  of  his  time  is 
spent  in  making  bows,  arrows,  and  blow-pipes, 
all  of  which  were  formerly  beautifully  finished 
and  suited  to  the  different  game  and  fishes.  A 
collection  of  Indian  arrows  shows  that  experience 


70  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

has  been  teaching  him  for  ages  how  to  kill  beast, 
bird,  and  fish,  and  even  how  to  stun  some  of 
them  without  killing.  It  is  true  that  the  white 
man  has  made  the  gun  familiar  to  those  living 
within  reach  of  the  coast,  but  many  an  isolated 
community  has  to  go  on  in  the  old  way.  Not 
only  has  he  good  weapons,  but  he  supplements 
them  with  the  arrow  poison,  the  wourali,  which 
kills  without  injuring  the  meat.  Another  poison, 
the  juice  of  the  cassava,  boiled  to  the  consistency 
of  molasses,  is  used  as  a  preservative  in  the  well- 
known  "  pepper-pot."  This  cassareep,  however, 
would  not  preserve  meat  for  any  length  of  time 
without  the  daily  sterilisation  which  is  a  necessary 
part  of  the  process.  Fresh  meat,  more  cassareep 
and  capsicums  are  added  at  intervals,  then  the 
pot  is  put  on  the  fire,  with  the  result  that  it  is 
always  good.  The  Indian  has  sterilised  his  meat 
for  ages  without  knowing  the  principle. 

In  the  absence  of  salt  he  has  learnt  how  to 
smoke  his  meat  on  a  boucan,  or  barbecue.  The 
meat  is  dried  over  a  fire,  and,  if  necessary,  it 
may  be  kept  good  for  a  long  time  by  an  occa- 
sional extra  smoking.  This  is  the  same  principle 
in  another  form. 

Anything  that  will  assist  the  huntsman 
or  tend  to  insure  his  success  is  of  the  utmost 


x  THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  71 

importance.  Even  where  it  is  only  a  belief  in 
the  success  of  some  peculiar  manner  of  pro- 
ceeding, we  can  hardly  call  the  charm  worthless. 
Confidence  prevents  hesitation,  and  this  con- 
fidence is  given  to  the  Indian  when  he  uses  his 
beenas. 

Because  success  in  hunting  is  so  important, 
the  idea  of  attracting  an  animal  has  also  become 
of  the  utmost  consequence.  The  beena,  or  charm, 
is  therefore  conspicuous  to  any  one  who  sees 
below  the  surface.  But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  the  Indian  tells  a  stranger  what  he  thinks  ; 
a  certain  amount  of  secrecy  is  a  part  of  the 
charm.  The  man  grows  his  Caladiums  in  a  place 
where  only  himself  is  likely  to  go,  his  wife  must 
not  go  near  them,  especially  at  certain  periods ; 
she  also  has  a  few  of  her  own,  which  are  set  apart. 

These  Caladiums  are  well  known  in  our  nurseries, 
as  natural  varieties  as  well  as  hybrids.  They  are 
common  weeds  in  coffee  and  cacao  plantations, 
but  do  not  appear  in  the  forest.  Probably  they 
have  been  selected  by  the  Indian  in  past  ages, 
and  perpetuated  from  their  supposed  qualities. 
The  leaves  vary  in  shape,  from  broadly  lanceolate 
through  cordate  to  sagittate,  and  are  generally 
mottled  or  spotted  with  white,  pink,  or  crimson, 
with  suffused  crimson  centres  and  various  coloured 


72  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

nervation.  To  the  Indian  these  shapes  and 
markings  mean  something ;  they  indicate  the 
special  use  of  the  plant.  It  is  the  old  doctrine 
of  "signatures,"  so  well  known  to  the  European 
herbalist,  who  once  considered  lungwort  to  be 
a  remedy  for  diseases  of  the  lungs,  because  its 
leaves  were  spotted  like  that  organ.  It  is  prob- 
ably one  of  those  ideas  which  originated  in  more 
than  one  place  and  at  different  ages.  If  there 
is  a  question  of  priority  it  may  possibly  be  claimed 
for  the  American  race  in  this  case  as  in 
inoculation. 

The  tubers  of  the  Caladiums,  as  well  as  those 
of  some  other  plants  used  as  beenas,  contain  an 
acrid  juice  which  causes  stinging  pain  when  rubbed 
into  a  scratch  or  cut.  Nevertheless,  the  Indian 
takes  up  a  blade  of  razor-grass,  a  piece  of  broken 
glass,  or  a  knife,  and  gashes  his  arms,  breast,  or 
shins,  until  an  onlooker  feels  almost  faint.  The 
man  who  rubs  in  his  particular  beena  thinks 
that  every  twinge  is  proving  the  good  effect  of 
his  charm.  How  could  he  know  it  was  working 
if  there  were  no  pain?  He  is  of  the  same 
opinion  as  a  coolie  who  once  asked  us  for  some 
"don*  ca'  damn  bush,"  and  explained  that  the 
acrid  poisonous  Dieffenbachia  was  to  rub  his 
legs  for  rheumatism.  On  our  warning  him  that 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  73 

the  leaves  would  burn  his  skin,  he  replied,  "  Burn 
'em,  yes  !  Me  want  burn  'em  !  Don'  ca'  damn ! " 
Pain  is  a  necessity  to  success ;  it  is  therefore 
borne  without  any  outward  sign  being  visible. 
As  in  the  case  of  the  whip-like  nose  beena,  it 
would  be  cowardly  to  flinch. 

Beenas  may  be  general  or  particular.  In  the 
first  the  charm  is  supposed  to  attract  beasts,  birds, 
and  fishes,  and  to  make  the  huntsman  successful 
in  every  way:  such  is  a  caterpillar  found  on  the 
Savannahs.  It  is  probably  the  stinging  larva  of 
a  moth  (Empretia  or  Megalopyge),  and  is  crushed 
before  using.  Not  only  is  the  man  inoculated 
with  this  virulent  insect,  but  the  dog  as  well. 
He  lacerates  his  thighs  and  rubs  in  the  pulp, 
at  every  scratch  uttering  the  name  of  the  deer, 
labba,  agouti,  and  so  on,  for  as  many  as  he  has 
made  cuts.  Every  twinge  is  a  reply  to  the  call, 
and  no  doubt,  if  the  unction  was  painless,  he 
would  have  no  confidence  in  the  result.  The 
poor  dog  has  its  nostrils  cut  with  razor-grass, 
the  blades  being  pushed  up  and  down  until 
bleeding  shows  them  to  be  ready  for  the  larva. 
The  poor  animal  rushes  off  into  the  bush  howling 
and  whining;  he  fails  to  appreciate  that  this 
awful  torture  will  make  him  as  successful  as 
his  master. 


74  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Another  larva  (Papilio  ?)  is  dried  and  powdered 
for  use  like  snuff,  as  a  general  charm  ;  a  tiny 
frog  is  swallowed  alive  to  produce  a  similar 
effect,  but  we  have  not  heard  that  the  names 
are  mentioned  when  using  these. 

Coming  now  to  the  special  beenas,  there  is 
one  or  more  for  every  game  beast,  or  bird,  and 
even  for  the  larger  fishes.  How  far  beenas  may 
be  used  against  carnivorous  animals  is  doubtful ; 
we  have  been  told  that  Hippeastrum  equestre,  the 
red  lily,  and  also  a  suffused  crimson  Caladium 
are  tiger  (i.e.  jaguar)  beenas.  In  view  of  the  fact 
that  these  charms  are  supposed  to  attract,  and 
that  jaguars  are  hardly  desirable,  we  may 
suggest  that  repulsion  or  destruction  may  be 
included  in  the  idea.  In  confirmation  of  this 
we  have  a  Caladium  which  is  supposed  to  promote 
good  shooting,  and  some  others  where  the  idea 
of  attraction  is  hardly  admissible. 

Among  the  special  game  beenas  is  a  variety 
of  Xanthosma,  with  a  small  irregular  leaf  on 
the  back.  This  has  suggested  the  stinking  gland 
of  the  peccary,  which  the  huntsman  removes  as 
quick  as  possible,  to  prevents  its  giving  a  taint 
to  the  meat,  and,  of  course,  it  is  the  beena  for 
that  animal.  That  for  the  deer  is  one  of  the 
arrow-shaped  Caladiums  with  ruddy  veins  and 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  75 

a  colour  somewhat  resembling  the  animal.  In 
this  case  the  leaf  with  its  pointed  lobes  represents 
the  facial  outline  and  ears,  while  the  colour  is 
another  part  of  the  signature  ;  a  frog  is  also  used 
for  the  same  animal.  An  ovate  or  roundish  leaf 
without  a  sinus  is  the  charm  for  the  labba,  because 
it  is  supposed  to  resemble  the  swollen  cheeks 
of  that  animal.  Another  variety  with  small  leaves, 
generally  oval,  is  chosen  for  the  turtle  and  its  eggs. 

One  of  the  finest  game  birds  is  the  powis  or 
curassow ;  a  frog  is  rubbed  into  scratches  on  the 
breast  as  a  general  charm  for  this  as  well  as 
other  birds.  The  special  beena  is,  however,  a 
Calathea,  the  leaves  of  which  are  supposed  to 
resemble  the  bird's  tail,  the  scaly  root  its  feather 
crest,  and  the  tubers  its  yellow  beak.  Some  of 
the  fish  beenas  are  also  Calatheas;  the  sheen 
upon  their  leaves  represents  that  of  the  fish.  A 
striking  charm  for  cat-fishes  is  Acontias  helle- 
borifolius,  the  leaves  of  which  are  digitate  and 
rather  narrow,  suggesting  the  barbels  of  the  fish. 
A  Caladium  with  a  silvery  grey  sheen  is  suffi- 
ciently like  the  fish  for  which  it  is  used,  as  are 
also  some  spotted  varieties,  and  one  with  a 
suffused  centre  the  colour  of  the  gills. 

Not  only  does  the  fisherman  inoculate  himself 
with  his  charms,  but  he  also  mixes  them  with 


76  IN  THE  GUIANA   FOREST. 

the  gall  of  the  fish  to  smear  upon  the  lines. 
With  all  his  care,  however,  he  does  not  always 
succeed;  something  more  may  be  done.  Some 
tiny  fish  has  been  hooked,  and  the  man  takes  it 
up,  blows  into  its  mouth  and  then  whispers  that 
he  will  let  it  go  if  it  tells  the  bigger  fish  to  come. 
But  the  little  fish,  even  though  it  is  supposed  to 
have  called  its  bigger  friends,  is  not  thrown  back 
for  fear  it  may  inform  them  of  the  hook. 

Game  animals  are  very  sharp  in  some  respects, 
but  in  others  are  thought  foolish.  If  the  Indian 
requires  to  prepare  his  meat  while  out  hunting, 
he  must  always  take  care  to  remove  the  barbecue 
before  leaving  the  place ;  otherwise  the  game  will 
be  frightened  from  the  neighbourhood. 

The  special  beena  for  an  expert  marksman  is 
a  Caladium  with  irregular  violet  splashings ; 
possibly  it  suggests  to  him  the  shot  wounds  of  an 
animal  with  their  blood  tricklings.  A  somewhat 
similar  leaf  is  used  to  make  a  boy  learn  quickly ; 
it  is  covered  with  crimson  blotches.  The  learning- 
is,  of  course,  that  of  a  hunter  or  fisherman. 

The  Peaiman  has  his  own  special  beena,  but 
he  does  not  appear  to  be  anything  like  the  witch- 
doctor of  the  negroes.  The  Indian  firmly  believes 
in  spiritual  enemies,  but  as  far  as  we  can  gather 
there  are  no  charms  to  cause  injury  to  other  men. 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  77 

On  the  contrary,  some  beenas  tend  to  good  feel- 
ing. The  pretty  idea  of  promoting  sociability 
in  families,  comparing  them  to  swallows,  is  well 
exemplified  by  the  arrangement  of  white  dots  on 
the  green  leaf  of  a  Caladium.  The  resemblance 
to  a  flock  of  birds  is  so  very  close  that  we  cannot 
avoid  saying,  "  When  the  swallows  homeward 
fly."  Again,  friends  may  be  absent  for  a  long 
time,  they  are  wanted  to  come  back,  for  every- 
body is  longing  to  see  them.  The  beena  with 
a  purple  centre  and  veins  and  pink  blotches  will 
hasten  their  return.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that 
none  of  our  Indian  languages  have  any  words 
signifying  curses,  nor  do  the  Peaimen  carry  on 
such  work  as  the  African  witch-doctor. 

Love  charms  are  prominent;  we  have  some 
for  women  and  others  for  men.  Three  distinct 
Caladiums  for  white,  negro,  and  Indian  women 
are  in  our  collection ;  they  have  suffused  crimson 
centres.  These  are  either  carried  on  the  person 
or  given  in  food  or  drink.  If  a  man  wishes  to 
attract  a  particular  woman,  he  rubs  himself  with 
the  tuber  of  the  special  beena  together  with  some 
scent  or  aromatic  herb.  He  then  gets  as  near 
as  possible  to  her ;  she  is  supposed  to  be  drawn 
towards  him  in  an  irresistible  manner  and  to 
follow  him  wherever  he  goes.  Women's  charms 


78  /V  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

to  attract  men  are  generally  given  in  food  and 
drink ;  one  is  a  wild  yam,  the  forked  tuber  of 
which  may  perhaps  be  compared  with  the  old 
mandrake  which  was  well  known  or  supposed  to 
promote  sexual  attraction. 

The  woman  desires  children  and  has  her  beenas 
to  promote  conception.  A  pretty  one  is  a  bird's- 
nest  fungus,  which  no  doubt  is  an  emblem  to  her 
of  maternity  ;  another  is  a  Maranta  with  a  number 
of  offshoots  or  tubers ;  this  latter  is  also  a  medi- 
cine after  child-birth. 

A  woman  must  not  go  near  to  the  man's  beenas ; 
it  would  spoil  them  altogether  did  she  touch  them 
at  certain  periods  or  when  child-bearing.  A 
similar  notion  once  prevailed  in  Europe  where 
medicinal  herbs  were  grown ;  their  virtues  would 
be  affected  if  a  woman  stepped  over  them.  A 
man  is  not  likely  to  go  to  the  woman's  cultivation, 
and  therefore  it  is  not  so  necessary  for  her  to 
hide  her  special  beenas.  The  provision  growing 
is  her  province,  her  husband  cultivates  only  his 
charms.  In  the  opinion  of  the  man,  women  are 
fruitful,  therefore  anything  dependent  on  increas- 
ing and  multiplying  must  necessarily  be  in  her 
province.  His  hunting  means  death,  her  cultiva- 
tion birth. 

We  have  already  seen  that  dogs    are   inocu- 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  79 

lated  with  the  same  charms  as  their  masters. 
Poor  creatures !  They  suffer  a  great  deal  before 
they  are  considered  good  hunters.  The  hunting 
dog  is  almost  certainly  an  importation  from  the 
old  world  and  therefore  the  training  must  be  a 
recent  development  on  the  same  lines  as  have 
been  followed  by  the  man  for  ages,  but  naturally 
with  modifications. 

The  puppy  is  sometimes  suckled  by  the  woman, 
and  when  old  enough  is  carried  into  the  forest, 
shown  tracks  of  game,  allowed  to  smell  them  and 
also  to  put  its  nose  into  the  game  when  caught 
Later  it  is  permitted  to  run  with  the  other  dogs, 
and  when  any  meat  is  given  either  the  flesh  or 
the  dog's  muzzle  is  rubbed  with  capsicum.  If 
it  should  fail  to  catch  game  the  muzzle  is 
scratched  and  more  capsicum  applied  together 
with  stinging  ants. 

While  training  the  dog  is  practically  starved. 
A  visitor  is  not  supposed  to  feed  it,  however 
hungry  it  may  appear.  We  once  gave  offence 
to  our  host  by  feeding  a  skin-and-bone  puppy  on 
the  remnants  of  our  dinner.  The  little  thing 
looked  so  pitiful,  with  its  abdomen  in  folds  like 
an  empty  sack,  that  we  broke  the  rule.  The 
master  said  nothing,  for  it  is  not  his  nature  to 
find  fault ;  he  only  watched  while  the  folds  gave 


8o  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

way,  and  it  appeared  ready  to  burst.  A  com- 
panion suggested  that  the  plate  be  withdrawn, 
but  Mr.  Puppy  snarled  in  a  most  ominous  manner 
when  we  tried  to  draw  it  away.  No  doubt  it  was 
spoiled  for  hunting  next  day. 

Dogs  go  wrong  sometimes ;  they  fail  and  must 
have  beenas  applied  up  the  nostrils  or  on  the 
muzzle.  There  is,  however,  a  general  mode  of 
renewing  it  when  "off  hunting."  Two  hollows 
are  dug  in  the  ground  about  two  feet  apart  and 
connected  by  a  tunnel.  In  the  one  is  placed  a 
lot  of  hoofs,  bones,  and  refuse  of  game  animals, 
together  with  a  full  supply  of  capsicums.  This 
is  set  on  fire  and  when  well  lit  partly  covered, 
so  that  the  acrid,  stinking  smoke  passes  through 
the  tunnel  to  the  other  hole  into  which  the  dog's 
muzzle  is  thrust  until  it  collapses.  Whether  this 
training  be  the  cause  or  not,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  Indian  dog  is  very  useful. 

Everything  is  done  to  prevent  the  dog  from 
being  spoilt,  even  the  women  at  certain  periods 
refrain  from  eating  meat  that  has  been  hunted 
by  him  under  the  notion  that  otherwise  his  powers 
would  be  diminished. 

Although  capsicums  or  cayenne  pepper  are 
not,  as  far  as  we  know,  used  alone  as  beenas, 
there  is  something  about  their  use  which  suggests 


THE  INDIAN  HUNTER.  81 

that  they  charm  or  drive  off  evil  spirits.  All 
diseases  are,  of  course,  the  work  of  something 
outside,  and  we  have  been  told  of  capsicums 
being  squeezed  and  the  juice  dropped  into  the 
eyes  as  a  remedy  for  ague.  They  are  also  used 
in  the  same  way  when  passing  the  pictured  rocks 
on  our  great  rivers,  as  if  to  deprecate  misfortune 
or  to  obtain  the  goodwill  of  some  spirit. 

Medicines  are  not  often  required,  but  wounds 
are  common  and  therefore  have  to  be  dressed. 
The  leaves  of  the  silver  fern  (Gymnogramma)  are 
bruised  and  applied  to  cuts,  and  those  of  the 
wild  guava  to  wounds  of  the  sting  ray.  Ulcers 
are  usually  treated  with  bruised  barks,  which  have 
some  effect  from  their  tannin.  Fevers  are  more 
generally  treated  with  vapour  baths;  a  fire  is 
kindled  under  the  hammock  and  certain  green 
leaves  allowed  to  smoulder  until  the  patient  is 
almost  suffocated. 

A  large  black  ant  is  called  by  a  name  meaning 
"  the  doctor,"  and  is  used  for  all  local  pains ;  its 
bite  is  painful  or  it  would  be  quite  useless.  The 
part  affected  is  allowed  to  be  bitten ;  for  fever  it 
is  one  of  the  temples  and  for  headache  the  crown 
of  the  head. 

The  Peaiman,  or  witch-doctor,  has  generally 
been  stigmatised  as  a  fraud,  but  such  is  not 

6 


82  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

altogether  the  case.  He  is  trained  to  know  a 
lot  of  things,  and  some  are  undoubtedly  useful 
to  the  hunter  and  fisherman.  In  a  way  he  is  a 
seer  and  can  tell  where  and  when  to  hunt.  His 
people  state  that  his  directions  are  generally 
right,  and  if  followed,  conduce  to  success.  He 
tells  them  to  go  at  dawn  to  some  particular  spot 
and  they  will  find  deer  or  tapir ;  they  go  and 
bring  back  the  particular  game.  He  also  knows 
how  to  treat  those  diseases  from  which  the  Indian 
has  always  suffered,  but  when  small-pox  and 
measles  that  have  come  in  with  the  white  man 
appear,  he  is  necessarily  at  a  loss,  When  we 
look  with  contempt  on  his  incantations,  and  say 
that  his  ventriloquial  feats  are  useless,  we  are 
inclined  to  forget  that  faith  gives  confidence  to 
both  doctor  and  patient,  and  is  often  effectual. 
The  negro  Obeah  man  often  works  in  a  similar 
way  for  another  purpose,  and  sometimes  kills 
those  who  have  faith  in  his  charms.  We  cannot 
find  that  the  Peaiman  ever  tries  to  injure ;  in  fact, 
everything  that  he  does  is  intended  for  good. 
At  the  same  time,  although  good  intentions  are 
not  everything,  we  know  he  cannot  go  beyond 
his  supposed  knowledge,  and  therefore  need  not 
think  him  an  impostor. 


THE   FISHERMAN. 


To  face  p.  83. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  FISHERMAN. 

THE  man  of  the  forest  is  at  home  in  the  water. 
Like  an  amphibious  animal  he  can  often  catch 
his  prey  in  its  native  element.  To  wade  into  a 
river  and  catch  a  fish  or  strike  it  with  a  cutlass, 
is  only  possible  where  there  is  a  rock-pool,  but 
when  the  river  is  low  this  is  often  done.  Possibly 
the  greatest  feat  is  to  dive,  find  a  fish  lurking  in 
some  hole,  by  a  quick  movement  dig  the  fingers 
into  its  eyes  and  then  grasp  the  slippery  monster. 
There  is  a  grand  struggle  before  the  catch  is 
landed,  but  the  skilled  fisherman  is  usually  the 
conqueror. 

But  it  is  not  everywhere  that  the  man  dares 
such  a  feat.  The  cayman  is  often  present,  ready 
to  snap  him  up,  the  electric  eel  may  paralyse  his 
limbs,  the  sting  ray  pierce  and  lacerate  his  feet, 

and  several  other  fishes  with  razor-like  or  spiky 

83 


84  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

teeth  want  to  cut  and  mutilate  him.  As  if  these 
enemies  were  not  sufficient,  he  must  create 
another,  the  Hue-ru,  or  siren.  Some  have 
thought  this  water  sprite  to  be  nothing  but  an 
exaggerated  manatee.  But  the  Indians  know 
this  animal  too  well  to  confound  it  with  his 
mysterious  enemy.  He  shoots  the  Manatee  and 
feeds  his  family  for  a  week  upon  its  meat  when 
fortunate  enough  to  secure  it. 

An  Indian  can  never  be  drowned  except  under 
supernatural  influence.  Such  is  his  belief,  and 
there  is  some  justification  for  it.  White,  black, 
and  red  men  go  down  when  a  boat  is  upset  at 
the  rapids,  but  almost  invariably  the  red  man 
comes  up  alone  to  report  the  accident.  He  is, 
however,  not  entirely  safe ;  he  is  sometimes 
drowned,  but  then  the  blame  is  laid  upon  the 
water-sprite.  Surely  such  a  good  swimmer  and 
diver  was  not  overcome  by  a  mere  accident.  He 
may  have  been  dragged  over  and  the  canoe  upset 
by  a  desmoncus,  entangled  in  the  slimy  beds 
of  Podostemaceae,  crippled  by  striking  a  boulder 
or  rendered  helpless  by  a  cayman  or  perai,  but 
his  death  is  always  put  down  to  the  water-sprite. 
Then  he  may  disappear  and  a  story  goes  round 
that  he  met  a  handsome  woman  who  carried 
him  down  to  her  home  beneath  the  dark  water. 


THE  FISHERMAN.  85 

Sometimes  he  has  been  heard  to  tell  how  he 
escaped  from  the  clutches  of  the  siren,  and  stories 
are  told  of  experiences  in  this  fairyland. 

The  most  dangerous  inhabitant  of  the  waters 
is  undoubtedly  the  perai ;  possibly  it  is  worse 
than  the  shark,  for  it  swims  in  shoals.  Its  teeth, 
like  those  of  the  shark,  are  beautifully  fitted  for 
cutting,  and  if  it  catches  a  finger  or  toe  it  is  clean 
severed  in  an  instant.  A  wounded  animal  can 
hardly  swim  across  a  river  when  the  perai  is  at 
hand  ;  little  more  than  a  skeleton  sinks  to  the 
bottom  before  reaching  the  shore.  A  fish  has 
been  caught  by  a  long  line,  and  nothing  but  a 
head  and  back-bone  rewards  the  fisherman.  It 
is  customary  to  clean  a  fish  in  the  shallows, 
but  it  is  necessary  to  beware  that  fingers  are 
not  cut  off,  for  the  smell  of  blood  brings  the 
voracious  shoal  at  once.  Sometimes  tame  ducks 
are  kept,  but  nearly  all  of  them  walk  on  stumps  ; 
the  mother  learns  by  bitter  experience  to  keep 
her  brood  in  very  shallow  places.  However,  the 
fisherman  finds  the  perai  an  easy  catch  as  long 
as  it  cannot  cut  the  line,  nowadays  a  piece  of 
tin  is  folded  above  the  hook. 

The  cayman  will  dispute  with  the  fisherman 
for  his  catch ;  it  rushes  at  him  with  a  snort  as 
if  a  score  of  horses  were  neighing.  The  line  is 


86  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

hurriedly  drawn  in,  with  the  chances  about  equally 
weighed.  If  the  man  is  successful  he  has  to  get 
off  before  the  enraged  cayman  holds  him. 

The  sting  ray  is  very  dangerous  to  waders,  for 
when  the  spine  pierces  the  foot  the  wound  appears 
to  be  poisoned  and  is  really  dangerous.  This 
spine  is,  however,  a  coveted  possession,  for  it 
makes  the  most  deadly  arrow-point,  and  therefore 
the  fish  is  carefully  hunted.  Providing  himself 
with  a  sharp-pointed  stick  or  spear,  the  Indian 
walks  carefully  along,  feeling  his  way  with  the 
weapon  until  the  thrill  of  something  other  than 
sand  is  felt.  Even  if  the  water  is  clear  the  back 
harmonises  so  closely  that  it  cannot  be  seen. 
But  on  the  slightest  touch  the  man  knows  what 
is  there,  and  at  once  plunges  his  spear  and  im- 
pales it  with  a  single  downward  stroke. 

Otters  are  plentiful  in  some  places.  The 
Indians  dislike  them,  for  they  sometimes  take 
his  catches  off  the  hook.  But  the  man  fre- 
quently retaliates.  Where  there  are  boulders  the 
otter  sometimes  brings  a  fish  and  lays  it  down, 
to  go  and  catch  another ;  the  watchful  Indian, 
keeping  very  close  while  this  is  being  done,  comes 
out  and  carries  it  off,  to  repeat  the  theft  as  many 
times  as  the  wary  otter  will  permit. 

To  prevent  his  catches  from  being  carried  off 


THE  FISHERMAN.  87 

the  Indian  has  learnt  to  make  spring  hooks.  A 
flexible  rod  is  stuck  firmly  into  the  bank  and 
only  a  short  line  is  used.  The  rod  being  bent 
well  over  it  forms  a  spring,  which  is  held  in  place 
by  a  catch.  Immediately  the  fish  is  hooked 
the  catch  is  loosened  and  the  rod  flies  back,  carry- 
ing the  fish  well  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 
These  lines  are  generally  set  at  night,  and  we 
have  seen  a  score  at  intervals  in  going  up  a  creek, 
some  with  fish  dangling  ready  for  the  man  when 
he  goes  his  morning  round.  At  night  the  fishes 
are  attracted  to  particular  spots  by  burning 
torches,  and  in  the  day  by  collecting  and  throw- 
ing in  certain  fruits  which  are  well  known  to 
suit  their  taste. 

Some  of  the  Guiana  fishes  are  very  large  and 
cannot  be  hooked ;  where  they  feed  on  water- 
plants  no  bait  can  be  manipulated  to  suit  their 
tastes.  The  largest  is  the  arapaima,  which  is 
said  to  attain  a  weight  of  four  hundred  pounds. 
It  is  very  beautiful,  for  every  scale  is  margined 
with  red,  and  as  the  larger  specimens  have  scales 
an  inch  in  diameter  these  red  margins  on  a  silvery- 
green  background  are  quite  lovely.  Their  home  is 
about  the  rapids  of  the  larger  rivers,  where  they 
feed,  together  with  the  pacu  and  several  other 
great  fishes,  on  that  curious  family  of  plants,  the 


88  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Podostemaceae.  These  are  something  like  sea- 
weeds in  general  appearance,  and  they  are  enabled 
to  cling  to  the  great  boulders  by  means  of  a 
sucking-disk.  When  the  dry  season  comes  the 
leaves  shrivel,  but  pretty  pink  flowers  come  out 
to  decorate  the  boulders.  When  the  river  is  in 
flood  they  are  hidden  with  the  rocks  below  the 
foaming  waters,  but  later  chains  of  boulders  and 
hollow  pools  everywhere  appear.  This  is  the 
time  for  shooting,  not  the  falls,  but  the  fishes. 

The  Indian  takes  his  bow  and  fish-arrows  to 
look  for  arapaima.  His  arrows  are  ingeniously 
arranged  so  that  when  the  fish  dives,  the  shaft 
is  loosened  from  the  head  and  a  long  cord  is 
unwound,  but  not  detached  from  head  or  shaft. 
The  fisherman  stands  up  on  one  of  the  boulders, 
which  are  often  quite  slippery,  and  carefully 
watches  for  a  sign  of  the  fish.  He  draws  his 
bow,  and  on  the  faintest  ripple,  swish  goes  the 
arrow  and  the  fish  is  struck.  Down  goes  the 
arapaima,  but  soon  the  arrovv-shaft  is  seen 
floating  and  bobbing  up  and  down,  following  the 
monster  in  all  its  struggles.  Presently  it  comes 
up  and  is  again  shot,  until  at  last,  weakened  by  loss 
of  blood,  it  is  either  drawn  in  by  one  of  the  lines 
or  fetched  by  swimming. 

When  the  water  is  not  so  low,  shooting  is  also 


THE  FISHERMAN.  89 

sometimes  possible.  Then  a  party  will  be  ar- 
ranged to  go  out  in  several  corials.  These  corials 
are  the  ordinary  dug-out  craft,  what  we  should 
call  cranky.  It  has  been  our  bitter  experience 
to  travel  in  one  of  them  for  several  hours,  but 
never  again  do  we  wish  to  suffer  such  an  incon- 
venience. You  have  to  sit  on  the  bottom  with 
your  legs  cramped,  and  dare  not  move  for  fear 
the  craft  may  turn  over.  Yet  the  Indian  can  do 
anything  he  likes  with  it.  You  see  him  going 
down  the  less  dangerous  rapids,  he  and  his  tiny 
craft  looking  as  if  they  were  one  monstrous 
floating  animal.  Even  if  it  upsets  he  gets  out 
and  rights  it  again  without  much  difficulty. 

In  fishing  parties  there  is  usually  one  man  to 
steer  and  paddle,  while  the  other  is  on  the  look- 
out for  signs  of  the  fish.  When  the  arapaima 
is  sighted  one  corial  moves  slowly  forward,  the 
bowman  rises,  clings  to  the  bottom  with  his  almost 
prehensile  toes,  and  stands  as  steady  as  if  on 
land.  He  would  make  a  fine  model  for  the 
sculptor,  for  he  is  himself  almost  a  bronze  statue. 
Fire  is  in  his  eyes,  every  muscle  bulges.  He  sees 
the  fish  where  we  could  distinguish  nothing.  It  is 
very  near  and  he  takes  care  not  to  disturb  it.  The 
paddler  moves  the  corial  to  right,  left,  or  forward  ; 
he  also  sees  the  fish.  Suddenly  a  twang  breaks 


90  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  silence,  and  with  a  swish  the  arrow  pierces 
the  arapaima.  At  once  there  is  a  rush  of  all 
the  corials,  which  follow  every  movement  of  the 
shaft  as  it  is  drawn  hither  and  thither  by  the 
startled  fish.  Now  and  again  it  appears  at  the 
surface,  sometimes  turning  on  its  side  and  strik- 
ing the  water  with  a  loud  slap.  Presently  it  is 
weakened  and  more  arrows  are  driven  into  it, 
until  at  last  some  one  gets  near  enough  for  a 
crushing  blow  with  a  cutlass. 

All  is  not  yet  over,  for  this  has  taken  place 
in  the  middle  of  a  broad  river.  The  catch  must 
be  taken  home,  and  none  of  the  corials  is  large 
enough  to  carry  it  together  with  even  one  paddler. 
A  corial  is  therefore  brought  close,  the  occupants 
get  out,  and  while  swimming,  sink  the  craft,  put 
in  the  fish,  and  finally  by  rocking  and  baling  get 
it  again  afloat  with  its  burden.  If  not  too  heavy 
one  man  may  get  in  to  paddle,  otherwise  both 
will  swim  along  until  the  catch  can  be  landed. 
Arrived  at  home,  they  throw  down  their  heavy 
load  and  retire  to  their  hammocks  until  the 
women  bring  the  savoury  meat  and  bread  for 
dinner. 

Near  the  coast  the  tarpon  or  cuffum  is  fairly 
common,  but  this  is  not  shot  like  the  large  fishes 
of  the  interior,  but  hooked.  It  is  reported  that 


THE  FISHERMAN.  91 

an  Indian  once  got  more  than  he  anticipated  by 
shooting  a  saw-fish  in  tidal  waters.  The  fish 
rushed  at  the  corial,  split  it  with  its  formidable 
weapon,  killed  a  dog,  and  nearly  drowned  the 
man. 

When  the  floods  come  and  the  rivers  spread 
into  the  forest,  all  the  hollows  are  filled,  to  some- 
times remain  as  pools  for  many  weeks  after  the 
waters  have  gone  back.  Most  of  the  fishes  return 
to  the  rivers  as  the  flood  recedes,  but  some  are 
left  behind,  to  become  of  considerable  importance 
to  the  fisherman.  He  knows  all  these  hollows, 
for  his  ancestors  as  well  as  himself  have  fished 
in  them  over  and  over  again  at  the  proper 
season. 

Perhaps  the  pool  may  be  at  a  long  distance, 
and  then  the  whole  family  take  part  in  the  picnic. 
Cassava  bread  and  barbecued  meat  are  prepared, 
and  some  morning  off  goes  a  string  of  men  and 
women,  happy  in  the  thought  that  they  will  soon 
have  as  much  fish  as  they  can  eat,  as  well  as 
plenty  for  the  barbecue.  To  fill  his  belly  is  a 
very  great  pleasure,  and  when  he  has  the  oppor- 
tunity it  is  almost  surprising  to  see  what  he  can 
eat.  No  doubt  this  apparent  greediness  has 
arisen  from  the  precarious  nature  of  his  meat 
supply  ;  sometimes  days  or  even  weeks  will 


92  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

pass  when  he  catches  nothing ;  feeding  is  there- 
fore a  very  serious  thing  when  an  opportunity 
occurs. 

The  file  is  naturally  led  by  the  men,  who  carry 
nothing  but  their  weapons,  while  the  women 
come  behind,  loaded  to  "  the  last  straw,"  with 
hammocks  and  food,  in  baskets  resting  on  the 
shoulders  steadied  by  bands  across  the  forehead. 
Some  will  have  babies  slung  in  front  and  little 
children  at  heel,  but  the  man  must  not  help  her. 
She  and  her  load  represent  the  baggage,  her 
husband  the  vanguard.  No  doubt  this  was 
reasonable  in  old  times,  for  no  man  with  a  burden 
could  defend  his  family  against  enemies,  human 
or  feline,  that  might  suddenly  come  upon  them. 
The  old  custom  or  instinct  is  retained  without 
much  reason ;  but  we  must  not  be  too  hasty  in 
condemning  it  as  some  good  people  have  done. 
The  Indian  wife  does  not  suffer  her  man  to  do 
women's  work  ;  it  would  degrade  him. 

By  and  by  they  arrive  at  the  pool,  and  at  once 
every  one  is  busy.  The  men  cut  down  saplings 
for  shelters,  which  are  covered  with  palm  leaves, 
erect  the  necessary  barbecues  and  see  that  every- 
thing is  ready  for  to-morrow's  work.  The  women 
prepare  a  meal,  and  at  sunset  they  all  retire  to 
their  hammocks,  often  conversing  half  the  night 


THE  FISHERMAN.  93 

on  former  fishing  and  hunting  exploits  here  and 
elsewhere. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  fishing  begins.  If 
the  pool  is  not  too  deep  or  if  the  dreaded  perai 
is  absent,  the  men  go  into  the  water  with  their 
cutlasses,  disturb  the  fish  and  strike  them  as  their 
movements  are  felt.  This  is  not  difficult  to  the 
naked  man,  whose  senses  have  been  trained  to 
feel  the  vibrations  caused  by  movements  in  water. 
This  sense  is  so  acute  that,  knowing  as  he  does 
the  particular  motion  of  every  fish,  he  can  tell 
what  species  is  near.  If  the  party  is  large  there 
is  quite  a  lively  scene.  Splashing,  chopping,  and 
the  throwing  out  of  fish  after  fish  goes  on  for  hours, 
until  every  one  of  any  size  is  captured.  Meanwhile 
the  women  have  also  been  busy,  catching  them 
as  they  are  thrown  on  the  bank,  cleaning  and 
placing  them  on  the  barbecue,  where  the  fires  are 
kept  up  and  the  smoking  goes  on  apace.  Finally, 
every  one  gets  a  hearty  meal,  and  peace  and  plenty 
are  assured  for  several  weeks.  The  peace  here 
referred  to  means  idleness,  and  after  all  the 
strenuous  life  demands  rest  after  hard  work. 
Here  again  we  must  join  issue  with  those  good 
people  who  stigmatise  the  Indian  man  as  pecu- 
liarly lazy.  The  life  of  a  hunter  and  fisherman 
is  by  no  means  that  of  an  idler ;  if  meat  be  not 


94  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

brought  home  the  wife  is  ready  to  complain. 
We  have  even  heard  of  a  woman  leaving  her 
husband  because  he  was  too  lazy,  and  brought 
her  nothing.  We  may  safely  state  that  man  and 
wife  are  equally  bound  to  do  their  shares  of  the 
home  work,  and  that  these  duties  are  carried 
out. 

Some  ingenuity  is  shown  in  poisoning  fishes. 
Four  distinct  vegetables  are  used,  known  as 
Haiari,  Conami,  Yaraconami,  and  Cunaparu.  All 
are  pounded  on  stones  at  the  sides  of  a  pool,  and 
the  pulp  stirred  into  the  water  until  the  fish  come 
up  gasping,  when  they  can  be  drawn  ashore. 
Several  forms  of  basket  traps  are  used,  and  there 
is  a  peculiar  trap  made  of  the  trumpet-tree, 
which  is  a  hollow  cylinder.  A  length  of  about 
five  feet  is  cut,  closed  at  one  end  where  the  bait 
is  placed,  and  suspended  by  its  centre  to  a  branch 
of  a  tree  overhanging  the  water,  in  which  it  is 
sunk  for  a  short  distance.  A  fish  goes  in,  over- 
balances the  closed  end,  and  immediately  the 
cylinder  becomes  perpendicular,  thus  safely  hold- 
ing the  catch  until  the  man  comes  round. 

Among  the  Guiana  fishes  is  a  most  interesting 
family,  the  Siluridae,  or  cat-fishes.  Some  are  very 
large  and  all  are  more  or  less  protected  by 
cuirasses  and  bony  plates  instead  of  scales ;  they 


THE  FISHERMAN.  95 

are  also  generally  provided  with  barbels  to  feel 
their  way  in  the  muddy  places  where  their  food 
is  picked  up.  Their  dorsal  and  pectoral  fins  are 
generally  provided  with  sharp  spines  often  armed 
with  saw-like  or  prickly  fringes,  which  make 
them  dangerous  to  handle.  When  taken  out  of 
the  water  they  make  spasmodic  movements  with 
their  armed  pectorals,  at  the  same  time  uttering 
a  short  grunt.  Serious  wounds  are  sometimes 
inflicted  in  this  way.  The  Indian  long  ago  found 
out  that  these  spines  were  dangerous  and  utilised 
them  for  arrow-points  and  barbs. 

As  may  be  supposed  in  a  country  everywhere 
intersected  by  water-courses,  fish  must  be  very 
abundant.  The  streams  are  not  often  clear  but 
muddy  and  loaded  with  organic  and  inorganic 
matter,  dissolved,  suspended,  or  afloat.  When  the 
flood  inundates  the  forest  it  takes  up  myriads  of 
fruits  and  drowns  swarms  of  ants,  termites,  beetles, 
and  other  insects.  Many  of  these  are  eaten  by 
the  fish,  which  spread  with  the  rising  waters,  but 
there  is  always  an  enormous  residuum  to  flow 
into  the  rivers  and  feed  the  great  cat-fishes. 

The  food  of  fishes  is  as  varied  as  the  species, 
and  in  Guiana  they  are  exceedingly  numerous. 
Among  the  cat-fishes  is  a  section  with  armour- 
plates,  which  the  negroes  compare  to  toenails. 


96  IN  THE  GUIANA  POREST. 

These  generally  have  sucking  mouths,  with  which 
they  cling  to  fallen  trees  and  boulders,  or  even 
suck  up  the  mud  from  the  river  bottom.  We 
have  seen  them  graze  upon  the  diatoms  which 
form  a  brown  crust  on  the  glass  of  the  aquarium, 
and  we  may  therefore  presume  that  their  staff 
of  life  is  that  lowly  class  where  animal  and  plant 
converge.  The  strong  pectoral  fins  of  some,  in- 
cluding Hoplosternum  littorale,  can  be  used  to 
draw  their  bodies  at  a  crawling  pace  over  land 
at  night,  when  the  Indian  sometimes  comes 
across  a  swarm  and  rejoices  at  his  easy  catch. 
This  is  the  fish  which  takes  care  of  its  young, 
and  is  ready  to  rush  at  anything  which  is  brought 
near  the  nest.  At  such  times  the  Indian  boy 
catches  him  with  the  fingers  as  he  rushes  at  the 
disturber  of  his  little  ones. 

The  delicacy  of  feeling  in  the  Indian  is  well 
shown  when  he  hunts  for  turtle's  eggs  in  the 
sand.  He  walks  carefully  along,  his  feet  only 
being  used,  for  the  eggs  are  well  covered  and 
perhaps  ten  inches  below  the  level  surface. 
Presently  there  is  a  slight  difference  in  the  feel 
of  the  sand,  and  he  at  once  begins  to  excavate, 
with  no  risk  of  failure. 

With  so  many  great  fishes  it  must  naturally 
follow  that  the  small  species  are  far  more 


THE  FISHERMAN.  97 

numerous.  Some  are  very  tiny  and  are  called 
millions  (Pcecilidae) ;  they  are  very  useful  in 
keeping  down  mosquito  larvae.  They  are  also 
interesting  for  the  fact  that  they  are  viviparous. 
Living  as  they  do  in  the  shallowest  ditches  where 
the  water  runs  off  very  quickly,  they  must  be 
prepared  to  move  with  it.  This  might  be  a  dis- 
advantage if  eggs  were  laid,  but  as  it  is  the 
mother  is  able  to  lead  off  her  young  as  soon  as 
they  are  born. 

There  are  also  lovely  fishes  called  silver-bait, 
but  possibly  the  most  curious  are  the  fresh-water 
flying-fishes  or  hatchet-bellies  (Gastropelicinae), 
which  skim  along  above  the  surface,  when  dis- 
turbed, for  several  yards.  These  are  very  active 
and  may  be  contrasted  with  the  Cychlidae,  which 
are  quite  deliberate  in  their  movements,  quite 
ready,  however,  to  flap  out  of  the  water  on  the 
appearance  of  the  spiky-toothed  fishes  which  are 
their  natural  enemies.  A  very  beautiful  class 
have  peacock-feather  spots,  glowing  with  rainbow 
colours. 


V. 

THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST. 

To  the  stranger  the  forest  appears  almost  deserted. 
Hardly  the  sign  of  an  animal  is  to  be  seen  by  any 
but  a  skilled  huntsman,  and  by  him  only  after  a 
most  careful  search.  There  are  no  open  places, 
but  the  whole  is  one  vast  game  cover,  in  the 
recesses  of  which  millions  of  animals  may  be 
hidden  without  an  indication  of  their  presence. 
For  there  are  no  herbivorous  animals,  as  there 
are  no  pastures  on  which  they  can  graze.  Not 
a  blade  of  grass  or  hardly  a  green  leaf  is  seen 
under  the  wide-stretching  roof,  and  it  would  there- 
fore be  impossible  for  them  to  live.  Even  the 
deer  of  the  savannah,  although  sometimes  found 
in  the  jungle,  cannot  exist  inside  the  forest.  It 
has  followed,  therefore,  that  in  the  course  of  ages 
the  wild  beasts  have  accommodated  themselves  per- 
fectly to  their  environment,  and  are  now  as  well 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.  99 

fitted  to  it  as  the  trees  themselves.  Nowhere, 
perhaps,  in  the  whole  world  are  there  so  many 
distinct  forms  of  animal  life  as  in  South  America. 
Here  is  the  home  of  the  cavies,  that  family  of 
which  the  well-known  but  miscalled  guinea-pig  is 
one  of  the  smallest  members.  Living  on  the  nuts 
which  strew  the  ground  in  such  profusion,  these 
pretty  creatures  abound  in  the  forest.  Hidden 
away  in  hollow  logs  or  among  the  great  tangle 
of  roots  during  the  day,  they  come  out  at  night 
to  nibble  at  the  monkey-nuts  and  other  seeds. 
Then  there  is  the  tapir  and  two  species  of  peccary, 
which,  like  their  cousins,  the  hogs,  live  almost 
entirely  on  the  seeds  that  are  scattered  so  pro- 
fusely below  by  the  great  forest  giants.  These 
animals  are  also  nocturnal  in  their  habits,  generally 
hiding  away  in  some  dense  tangle  on  the  sand- 
reef  during  the  day.  To  prevent  their  settling 
down  too  easily,  nature  has  provided  enemies  in 
the  shape  of  that  beautiful  series  of  wild  cats 
which  culminates  in  the  jaguar  or  American  tiger. 
Like  their  cousins,  so  well  known  in  civilised 
countries,  they  are  good  climbers,  can  see  well  at 
night,  and  often  spring  upon  the  luckless  acouries 
or  labbas  as  they  are  quietly  feeding.  Now  and 
again  one  of  them  catches  a  peccary  which  has 
strayed  from  the  herd,  but  the  wild  hog  has  learnt 


ioo  IN  THE  GUIANA  FORES1. 

that  there  is   safety  in    combination   and   rarely 
strays  from  his  fellows. 

Among  the  most  curious  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  forest  that  are  not  arboreal  is  the  ant 
bear.  This  creature,  with  its  powerful  forelegs, 
great  claws,  and  tapering  snout,  suggests  at  once 
that  there  have  been  several  strange  factors  at 
work  to  create  such  a  monster.  And,  when  we 
find  that  it  lives  entirely  on  ants  and  termites, 
our  wonder  is  by  no  means  diminished.  To  feed 
an  animal  of  this  size  on  such  pigmies  seems 
almost  unnatural,  and  yet  the  multitude  of  ants 
in  the  forest  and  on  the  sand-reef  is  so  enormous, 
that  there  is,  after  all,  no  difficulty  in  realising  the 
fact.  We  shall  have  something  to  say  of  the  ant 
world  presently,  so  will  now  only  call  attention  to 
the  impossibility  of  studying  one  part  of  nature 
without  some  knowledge  of  other  divisions. 

In  the  silence  of  the  forest  the  least  sound  is 
heard  by  the  animals  long  before  a  noisy  intruder 
can  get  a  sight  of  them.  The  labba  peeps  from 
his  home  in  the  hollow  tree,  cocks  up  his  ears, 
and,  if  he  hears  a  footstep,  retires  again  to  its  re- 
cesses. If  near  to  the  water  he  dives  and  comes  up 
some  distance  away,  hiding  his  head  among  water- 
plants  or  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  dense  bushes 
which  come  down  into  the  stream.  The  acourie 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.          for* 

or  agouti,  however,  does  not  dive,  but,  like  the 
fox,  is  very  wily.  Going  in  at  one  end  of  a  log 
and  out  at  the  other,  he  often  escapes  while  the 
huntsman  is  looking  round.  If  chased  he  will 
run  along  the  shallows  of  a  creek  to  hide  his 
scent  from  the  dogs,  or  swim  over  and  back  again 
several  times  for  the  same  purpose.  He  never 
runs  straight  when  pursued,  but  doubles,  often 
hiding  until  a  dog  has  passed  and  then  making 
off  in  a  different  direction.  Like  the  fox  he  has 
been  hunted  for  a  very  long  period,  and  like 
Reynard  has  grown  wiser  with  every  generation. 
The  accumulated  experience  of  past  ages  has 
made  him  as  cunning  to  evade  his  pursuer  as  it 
has  made  the  Indian  and  his  dog  knowing  in  their 
trade  as  hunters. 

Most  of  the  forest  animals  living  on  the  ground 
readily  take  to  the  water,  in  fact,  some  are  almost 
amphibious.  The  deer,  however,  although  he 
swims  easily,  cannot  dive  or  move  fast  in  that 
element.  His  home  is  on  the  savannah,  and 
when  there  he  can  easily  get  away  from  the  dog, 
but  if  driven  to  cross  a  broad  river  he  is  lost.  The 
Indians  hunt  him  as  they  do  some  other  game, 
one  man  with  his  dog  driving  him  to  the  creek, 
where  another  stands  ready  in  a  canoe  to  capture 
the  poor  creature  as  he  goes  to  cross  the  stream. 


102  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

His  lair  is  among  the  bushes  on  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  and  like  most  other  animals  his  colour  har- 
monises so  closely  with  his  surroundings,  that  he  is 
practically  invisible  to  any  one  but  the  Indian. 

This  invisibility  is  a  striking  characteristic  of 
every  living  thing  in  the  forest.  At  first  a  stranger 
observes  nothing  but  a  scene  of  desolate  confusion. 
Later,  however,  he  begins  to  distinguish  one  tree 
from  another  and  learns  where  to  look  for  a 
particular  animal.  Then  he  wonders  how  he 
could  have  missed  the  signs  which  now  impress 
themselves  upon  his  eyes.  However,  this  is  not 
altogether  characteristic  of  the  forest  as  a  similar 
result  follows  on  a  close  acquaintance  with  any 
place.  There  is  another  aspect  of  this  question, 
and  that  is  the  fact  that  there  must  be  a  desire 
for  knowledge.  Otherwise,  the  forest  is  excessively 
tame  and  dull — perhaps  to  an  ordinary  sojourner 
almost  as  lifeless  as  the  African  desert.  For 
want  of  knowledge  he  sees  nothing,  hears  nothing, 
and  is  inclined  to  do  nothing  but  complain  of  the 
monotony  day  after  day.  There  is  nothing  to 
relieve  him  from  the  feeling  of  annoyance  pro- 
duced by  the  hot,  steamy  atmosphere  and  the 
insect  pests  which  continually  worry  him.  He 
feels  clammy  ;  his  clothes  get  damp  and  cannot 
be  dried ;  in  one  place  there  are  mosquitoes  and 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.          103 

in  another  sand-flies.  And  then  the  ants.  They 
are  everywhere.  They  crawl  about  under  his 
clothes,  nip  him  about  the  neck  and  arms  and 
ankles,  get  into  his  food,  perhaps  carry  away  his 
sugar  grain  by  grain  in  a  night,  and  altogether 
are  most  annoying.  All  these  things,  however, 
help  to  make  the  bush  most  fascinating  to  a 
naturalist ;  he  is  no  longer  a  looker-on  at  the 
show,  but  an  actor  in  the  midst  of  it.  At  every 
fresh  visit  he  finds  something  new — something  to 
think  of  when  he  returns  home — some  problem 
to  be  inquired  into  on  another  excursion.  No 
matter  that  he  rarely  succeeds  in  solving  it — the 
eager  desire  and  hope  keep  up  the  interest. 

But  we  are  wandering  off  into  that  maze  which 
is  so  interminable,  and  must  come  back  to  the 
animals  of  the  forest.  However  rare  and  difficult 
to  find  may  be  those  which  live  on  the  ground, 
still  they  are  to  be  seen  by  the  naturalist  and 
skilled  huntsman  ;  but  when  we  come  to  the  others 
— the  great  majority  that  abide  in  the  canopy 
above  and  rarely  descend  to  earth — observation 
is  almost  impossible.  Had  we  the  wings  of  a 
bird  we  might  hover  above  the  tree  tops  and  see 
their  inhabitants  living  and  enjoying  life,  as  beauti- 
fully fitted  to  their  environment  as  the  others  ; 
without  such  appendages  we  must  be  content  to 


104  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

glean  a  little  information  now  and  then.     If  the 
cover  for  ground  game  is  so  very  great,  what  shall 
we  say  of  that  for  the  monkeys,  opossums,  sloths, 
iguanas,  snakes,  and  birds.      From  the  din  some 
of  these   make   in  the  early  morning   we   might 
suppose  them  to  be  the  only  inhabitants  of  the 
forest.      And  how  weird   are  their  cries !      They 
add  to  the  feeling  of  awe  which  is  almost  insepar- 
able from   the   dense   shades.     The   red   howling 
monkey,  hidden  in  the  foliage  overhead,  keeps  up 
his  reverberating  notes  at  intervals  for  hours,  and 
makes  the  stranger   exclaim  almost   in   a  fright, 
"  Whatever  can  that  be  ?  "     Then  come  the  tree- 
frogs,  which  astonish  us  with  their  loud  whistling 
or  booming,  while  the  buzzing  of  the  cicada  or 
razor-grinder    is  even  more  startling.      Near  the 
settlements  the  latter  is  called   the   "  six-o'clock 
bee,"  from  its  characteristic  noise  being  heard  at 
that  hour,  as  it  flies  from  tree  to  tree.     Suddenly, 
without  warning,  you  hear  a  grindstone,  as  it  were, 
at  work  in  the  tree  overhead,  and  presently,  if  the 
canopy   be   not   too   thick,  see   a   great   fly  pass 
quickly  into  another  tree  and  repeat  its  peculiar 
buzz.     In  the  forest  at  certain  seasons  these  insects 
are  heard   in   the  day,  but  instead  of  enlivening 
the  awful  stillness,  they  rather  add  to  its  solemnity. 
Those  who  have  wandered  alone  over  some  moun- 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.         105 

tain  slope  and  started  as  a  sheep  hidden  behind  a 
boulder  uttered  its  prolonged  baa,  will  understand 
how  these  strange  noises  affect  us  in  the  forest. 
But  however  startling  such  a  sound  may  be  on  the 
mountain,  it  is  much  more  so  here,  for  not  only 
is  there  silence,  but  gloom,  and  the  reverberations 
are  increased  by  echoes  from  the  myriad  tree- 
trunks. 

At  night  a  continual  hum  is  heard,  which  how- 
ever does  not  enliven  the  forest.  It  is  like  a 
singing  in  the  ears,  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise, 
and  is  produced  by  myriads  of  insects  which  fly 
around  after  sunset.  If  you  are  paddling  up 
a  broad  river  and  keep  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  the  hum  is  imperceptible ;  but  on  approach- 
ing the  shore  it  becomes  almost  piercing  until  you 
become  accustomed  to  it  and  then  it  is  hardly 
noticed.  Now  and  again  an  owl  or  goatsucker 
flits  past,  uttering  its  weird  cry,  which  is  even 
more  startling  than  that  of  the  red  howler.  Sud- 
denly you  are  startled  by  the  question,  '  Who  are 
you  ?  "  or  told  to  "  Whip  poor  Will ! "  Then  comes 
that  series  of  wails  which  Waterton  compared  to 
the  midnight  cry  of  some  murdered  victim,  waking 
the  sleeper  and  sending  a  cold  thrill  down  his  back. 

These  cries  are  supplemented  or  replaced  in  the 
early  morning  by  a  din  above  our  heads,  which  at 


io6  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

once  proves  that  the  forest  is  by  no  means  wanting 
in  animal  life.  From  the  top  of  a  giant  mora 
comes  the  screeching  of  a  flock  of  parrots  or 
macaws,  here  and  there  a  toucan  is  uttering  its 
puppy-like  bark,  from  far  away  comes  the  ting 
of  the  campanero,  and  a  hundred  other  species 
utter  their  peculiar  cries  at  intervals.  Before 
sunrise  they  begin  to  wake ;  here  and  there  a 
bird  greets  the  morn  like  the  domestic  cock, 
and  as  the  sun  begins  to  flash  his  rays  over  the 
green  expanse,  every  bird  is  up  and  doing,  his 
brilliant  colours  glowing  against  the  almost  black 
foliage.  But  even  then  a  sportsman  complains 
that  they  are  few.  In  an  English  wood  he  looks 
for  and  generally  finds  flocks  of  one  species  of 
bird ;  but  here  in  South  America,  with  few  excep- 
tions, he  has  to  be  content  with  individuals  or  very 
small  companies. 

When  we  see  the  average  white  sportsman  go 
into  the  forest  to  destroy  such  beautiful  creatures 
as  parrots  and  toucans,  simply  to  gratify  his 
murderous  appetite  we  are  more  than  shocked. 
Even  when  he  wounds  one  of  them  it  often 
clutches  at  a  twig  and  remains  there  to  suffer, 
or  drops  in  the  forest  where  it  cannot  be  found. 
The  Indian  kills  to  eat,  and  very  rarely  wounds. 
He  cannot  afford  to  waste  powder  and  shot,  while 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.          IO; 

the  amateur  sportsman  is  careless  of  this.  The 
consequence  is  an  amount  of  suffering  which  he 
surely  cannot  appreciate,  or  he  would  be  afraid 
to  lift  his  gun  against  a  parrot.  The  naturalist 
who  has  such  a  man  for  a  companion  on  a  bush 
excursion  is  horrified  to  see  him  let  fly  at  anything 
and  everything — not  even  those  little  wanderers 
from  paradise,  the  humming-birds,  being  excepted. 
Snakes  are  plentiful  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
but  they  are  rarely  seen  by  any  one  but  the 
naturalist.  Although  often  so  brilliant  in  the 
light,  otherwise  their  colours  assimilate  to  the 
bark  of  the  trees  round  which  they  coil.  As  a 
rule  they  are  very  sluggish,  although  able  to 
move  very  swiftly  when  frightened.  By  walking 
quietly  like  the  Indian,  however,  we  may  often 
see  them  with  their  heads  peeping  out  from  among 
the  branches,  as  if  on  the  look-out,  sunning  them- 
selves across  some  forest  path,  or  taking  a  drink 
from  the  creek.  As  harmless  to  man  as  they 
are  beautiful  in  his  eyes,  when  he  gets  over  his 
natural  repugnance  to  them,  the  naturalist  often 
wonders  why  snakes  are  held  in  such  abhorrence. 
True,  the  venomous  species  will  turn  when  trod 
upon,  but  they  are  not  to  blame  for  that.  Without 
their  poisonous  fangs  the  species  which  live  in 
the  trees  might  often  find  it  difficult  to  get  a  meal. 


io8  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST, 

Those  living  on  the  ground  have  the  advantage 
of  being  able  to  dart  on  their  prey  and  coil  round 
it  so  quickly  that  the  movement  is  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable. With  their  bodies  coiled  round  a 
branch  this  is  not  so  easy  to  the  tree-snake,  and 
we  may  therefore  presume  that  the  poison  fangs 
were  originally  developed  to  get  over  this  difficulty. 
It  is  true  that  there  are  many  non-poisonous 
species  now  living  in  trees,  and  a  number  of 
venomous  kinds  at  home  on  the  ground,  but  it 
can  be  easily  conceived  that  the  first  development 
may  have  taken  place  in  an  arboreal  species.  At 
first  sight  the  naturalist  may  be  inclined  to  pity 
these  poor  creatures,  as  they  seem  to  have  so 
few  weapons  of  defence,  but  when  he  studies 
them  a  little  more  he  is  struck  with  their  many 
beautiful  adaptations  to  circumstances.  Without 
proper  teeth  and  entirely  devoid  of  claws  they 
seem  almost  helpless,  yet  they  exist,  develop,  and 
show  no  signs  of  degradation,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
appear  to  flourish  to  perfection. 

Lizards  and  frogs,  like  snakes,  appear  to  have 
been  originally  confined  to  the  ground  and  water, 
but  in  Guiana  some  species  that  live  in  the  trees 
are  among  the  most  interesting  of  our  animals. 
As  in  the  case  of  other  forms  of  life  these  show 
marvellous  adaptations  to  their  environment,  and 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.         109 

should  always  be  studied  in  this  connection. 
Guiana  is  pre-eminently  a  land  of  forest  and 
stream,  and  it  has  followed  that  both  animal 
and  vegetable  kingdoms  have  been  developed  to 
suit  these  conditions.  Some  are  equally  at  home 
on  land,  in  the  water,  or  on  the  trees,  those  that 
cannot  easily  live  in  the  flood  being  able  to  climb  out 
of  its  reach.  Then  we  must  also  take  into  account 
the  kinds  of  food  procurable.  The  interdependence 
of  one  animal  on  another,  and  these  again  upon 
the  seeds  of  trees  and  even  on  flowers,  is  so  close, 
that  we  can  hardly  conceive  of  their  existing 
apart.  Changes  of  environment  in  past  ages 
have  undoubtedly  caused  the  extinction  of  num- 
berless species,  and  from  the  naturalist's  point  of 
view  it  would  no  doubt  be  a  great  catastrophe 
were  the  South  American  forest  even  partially 
cleared. 

If  the  larger  animals  are  wonderfully  adapted  to 
their  habitats,  the  insects  are  particularly  con- 
spicuous in  the  same  way.  We  have  seen  that 
game  is,  at  least  apparently,  scarce,  but  we  cannot 
say  the  same  of  the  smaller  forms  of  life.  Like 
the  plants,  they  are  not  only  varied  in  species,  but 
exceedingly  numerous  from  every  point  of  view. 
Here  we  find  the  most  magnificent  beetles, 
moths,  butterflies,  and  dragon-flies,  exceedingly 


no  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

curious  forms  of  mantidae,  grasshoppers,  flies,  and 
spiders,  and  an  almost  bewildering  variety  of 
wasps  and  ants.  In  the  day  the  butterflies, 
wasps  and  bees,  are  as  conspicuous  as  the  flowers, 
while  the  ants  are  really  everywhere.  On  the 
sand-reefs  and  high  ground  generally,  the  tracks 
of  those  species  of  ants  which  live  in  the  earth  are 
seen  crossing  and  intersecting  each  other  in  every 
direction.  Processions  are  continually  passing 
and  repassing,  those  that  gather  leaves  to  make 
their  mushroom  beds  reminding  us  of  some  great 
Irish  national  fete,  where  every  one  carries  a  green 
banner.  Then  comes  the  great  army  of  hunters 
or  scavengers  which  frighten  and  scatter  every 
living  thing  on  their  route.  They  rummage  out 
every  chink  and  cranny,  now  catching  a  fat  beetle- 
larva,  now  a  cockroach,  and  farther  on,  perhaps, 
some  sick  or  wounded  animal.  In  vain  the  cock- 
roach tries  to  run  or  even  fly  ;  several  of  the  ants 
have  taken  hold,  and  will  let  themselves  be  torn  in 
pieces  rather  than  lose  their  advantage.  Almost 
before  you  can  see  what  is  going  on,  every  particle 
of  the  soft  flesh  of  the  insect  is  eaten,  and  nothing 
remains  but  the  two  wing-sheaths  and  the  covering 
of  the  thorax. 

Here  we  have  in  the  same  class  species  that  are 
carnivorous  as  well  as  others  distinctly  herbivorous. 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.         in 

The  latter  live  in  well-built  nests  in  the  ground,  as 
well  protected  against  floods  and  enemies  as  if  the 
ants  formed  great  nations  with  lines  of  dams  and 
fortresses.  But  there  are  other  species  found  on 
the  trees,  all  having  their  peculiar  manners  and 
customs,  which  should  be  almost  as  interesting 
to  the  student  as  those  of  the  races  of  mankind. 
A  small  black  ant  which  lives  in  the  Barbados 
cherry  (Malpighia  punicifolia)  from  the  egg  case  of 
a  Mantis  makes  a  little  nest  the  size  of  a  walnut. 
From  this  home  it  wanders  over  the  bush,  ap- 
parently looking  after  flocks  of  scale  insects  which 
it  has  carried  to  pasture  on  the  leaves  when  very 
young  or  in  the  egg.  The  scale  insect  sucks  the 
juices  from  the  leaf,  and  the  ants  crowd  round 
seemingly  to  get  a  portion  of  what  exudes,  or  else 
to  take  it  from  the  parasite  after  some  change  has 
been  effected. 

Some  trees  provide  homes  for  these  little  crea- 
tures, evidently  inviting  them  to  inhabit  their 
barracks,  provided  they  keep  off  noxious  creatures 
that  would  eat  their  leaves  or  flowers.  A  species 
of  Melastomacese  does  this  in  the  swollen  petioles 
of  its  leaves,  an  acacia  in  its  thorns,  another  shrub 
in  a  swollen  node  of  its  branches,  and  an  orchid 
(Diacrium  bicornutum)  in  its  pseudo-bulbs.  All 
these  are  so  beautifully  contrived  that  we  can 


112  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

hardly  think  of  them  in  any  other  light  than  as 
provided  specially  for  the  purpose.  Then  there 
are  less  elaborate  contrivances,  the  most  perfect  of 
which  is  that  of  the  Coryanthes,  which,  unlike 
many  other  orchids,  lets  its  aerial  roots  grow  into 
an  oval  ball  where  ants  can  easily  take  up  their 
abode  and  fill  in  the  lattice-like  spaces  to  make  a 
perfectly  safe  habitation  and  barracks.  Other 
epiphytes  provide  more  or  less  perfect  mats  of 
roots  in  which  ants  also  make  their  homes,  and 
sally  out  in  defence  if  the  plant  is  disturbed. 
Heaps  of  fallen  leaves,  matted  stems  of  creepers, 
or  any  collection  of  debris  at  the  forking  of  tree 
branches  are  also  utilised  by  these  interesting 
creatures.  Whether  they  ever  sleep  is  doubtful — 
they  crawl  into  our  hammocks  at  night,  and  drop 
upon  us  as  we  brush  past  the  hanging  bush-ropes 
by  day.  Some,  as  we  have  seen,  combine  for  a 
special  object ;  others  appear  to  work  inde- 
pendently. Hardly  a  trunk,  branch,  leaf,  or 
flower,  is  free  from  them.  They  vary  in  colour 
from  bright  red,  through  brown  to  jet  black,  and 
in  size  from  little  creatures  that  are  almost  micro- 
scopic to  monsters  nearly  as  large  as  wasps.  Like 
snakes,  many  of  them  instil  a  poison  when  they 
bite,  while  others  nip  tiny  pieces  of  flesh  from 
their  victims,  and  are  not  venomous.  The  manuir, 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.         113 

which  is  perhaps  the  largest  species  in  Guiana,  is 
over  an  inch  long  and  is  so  venomous  that  the 
Indian  uses  it  to  test  his  boy's  capacity  of  bearing 
pain.  We  have  heard  a  negro  cry  out  and  almost 
weep  from  its  bite,  the  effects  of  which  lasted  for 
hours.  To  study  these  interesting  creatures  would 
be  the  work  of  a  life-time.  The  researches  of  Sir 
John  Lubbock  have  thrown  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  habits  of  European  species,  but  the  field  here 
is  so  wide  that  probably  the  result  of  similar 
researches  in  Guiana  would  be  marvellous. 

Perhaps,  after  the  ants,  the  most  ubiquitous  are 
the  termites,  who  are  the  scavengers  of  the  forest. 
Although,  perhaps,  among  the  most  helpless  of 
living  things,  they  carry  on  a  work  which  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  In  a  year  or  two  they  will 
break  down  the  largest  timber  tree,  until  it  collapses 
into  that  rich  brown  humus  so  characteristic  of 
the  forest,  and  which  is  so  well  suited  to  feed  all 
the  other  plants.  It  must  be  understood  that  the 
decomposition  which  takes  place  in  the  forest  is 
quite  distinct  from  that  of  more  open  places. 
Instead  of  the  alternations  of  rain  and  sunshine, 
we  have  here  a  uniform  temperature  and  almost 
equal  amount  of  moisture.  It  follows,  therefore, 
that  the  decomposition  is  even  and  continuous. 
The  termites  burrow  through  the  timber  in  every 

8 


H4  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

direction,  allow  the  moisture  to  penetrate,  and  in 
a  comparatively  short  time  the  hard  wood,  which 
rings  almost  like  metal  to  the  blows  of  the  axe, 
crunches  under  foot  as  if  it  were  made  up  of  egg- 
shells. As  long  as  a  tree  is  healthy  the  termite 
leaves  it  alone,  but  as  soon  as  a  branch  is  injured 
a  nest  is  sure  to  be  planted  in  the  fork  and  its 
work  begins.  As  there  are  always  plenty  of  the 
dead  and  dying  in  the  forest,  these  little  creatures 
may  be  seen  everywhere,  plainly  indicating  by 
their  presence  that  another  poor  victim  has  suc- 
cumbed in  the  struggle. 

Wasps  and  bees  are  also  very  numerous,  the 
former  hanging  their  round  or  pear-shaped  nests 
from  the  branches  of  trees,  or  even  building  a 
single  layer  of  cells  on  the  backs  of  leaves.  They 
are  called  marabuntas  in  the  colony,  and  are  much 
feared  for  their  virulent  stings.  Unlike  the  wasps 
of  Europe  they  do  not  appear  to  live  upon  fruit, 
but  to  be  carnivorous,  or  general  scavengers,  like 
the  ants.  Although  not  so  interesting  as  the  bees 
and  ants,  they  are  well  worth  study,  and  no  doubt 
careful  investigation  would  be  amply  rewarded. 
Bees  are  not  by  any  means  so  common  as  the 
wasps,  although  the  humble  bees  are  more 
plentiful,  as  might  be  expected  from  their  being 
so  well  fitted  for  the  fertilisation  of  flowers. 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  FOREST.         115 

Coming  now  to  the  nocturnal  insects,  which 
include  flies,  beetles,  and  moths,  we  are  almost 
bewildered  by  their  number.  As  we  have  before 
mentioned,  their  buzzing  is  kept  up  all  night  long, 
even  where  there  are  no  mosquitoes,  which  un- 
doubtedly help  to  make  up  the  din  when  they  are 
present.  Hang  a  lantern  or  candle  in  your  forest 
camp,  and  a  cloud  of  insects  are  attracted  by  the 
light.  First  come  the  gnats  and  other  flies,  which 
fall  into  an  open  flame  and  create  quite  a  litter 
underneath.  Then  the  smaller  moths  burn  their 
wings  and  drop,  while  every  now  and  again  a  great 
sphinx  comes  fluttering  along,  or  a  monster  beetle 
flies  straight  and  strikes  against  anything  in  its 
way. 

With  so  many  insects  which  pass  through  their 
first  stages  in  the  water,  it  naturally  follows  that 
the  swamp,  river,  and  creek,  are  teeming  with  life. 
The  lower  animalculae  flourish  everywhere  and  at 
all  times,  to  feed  the  myriads  of  mosquito  and  fly 
larvae  ;  these  again  nourish  the  shoals  of  smaller 
fish,  which  in  their  turn  fall  a  prey  to  their  large 
finny  brethren,  as  well  as  to  the  alligator  and  the 
ibis, 


VI. 

THE  INSECTS. 

FROM  the  forest  come  a  host  of  enemies  to  our 
cultivated  plants.  Man  tries  to  interfere  with  the 
balance  of  life  by  protecting  his  pets  from  their 
natural  foes,  but  he  rarely  succeeds.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  goodly  number  of  new  pests  come  to  the 
front ;  they  learn  that  the  imported  plant  is  more 
luscious  than  those  on  which  they  have  made  a 
precarious  living  for  ages.  Here  someone  has 
brought  a  higher  class  of  food  to  their  very  doors 
as  it  were,  and  they  are  not  bound  so  tightly  by 
the  fetters  of  instinct  as  to  despise  it.  We  have 
already  hinted  that  animals  and  plants  have  some 
reasoning  power ;  we  have  not  the  least  doubt  that 
they  learn  by  experience. 

The  sugar-cane  comes  from  the  East  where  it 
has  enemies,  some  of  which  were  probably  brought 
to  the  West  Indies.  Some  two  hundred  years  ago 


GREAT    MOTH    BORER. 


To  face  p.  116. 


THE  INSECTS.  11? 

planters  spoke  of  "  the  blast "  which  was  probably 
the  work  of  moth  or  beetle  borers,  but  not  until 
ten  to  fifteen  years  ago  was  anything  heard  of  the 
great  moth  borer  (Castnia  licus)  as  a  cane  pest. 
The  insect  is  well  known  as  a  denizen  of  the  forest, 
where  it  feeds  upon  wild  plantains,  bromelias,  and 
orchids.  It  has  never  been  considered  common 
nor  is  it  seen  in  the  forest  in  any  great  number ; 
evidently  its  living  was  got  under  great  difficulties. 
But  it  discovered  the  sugar-cane,  and  is  now  going 
through  the  plantations  at  a  fearful  rate.  Over 
thirty  thousand  have  been  caught  on  one  planta- 
tion in  a  month ;  we  may  therefore  safely  state 
that  the  actual  number  feeding  on  the  canes 
exceeded  this  by  four  or  five  times.  Where  perhaps 
there  were  only  a  few  thousands  in  the  country  we 
now  have  millions.  As  every  larva  spoils  a  cane 
it  can  easily  be  understood  that  the  output  of  sugar 
is  much  affected.  Efforts  are  being  made  to  fight 
the  pest,  but  as  the  larva  is  absolutely  safe  from  its 
natural  enemies  when  sheltered  within  the  cane, 
only  the  troublesome  way  of  catching  the  perfect 
insect  is  available.  It  is  curious,  however,  to  note 
that  another  pest,  the  rat,  gnaws  the  cane  to  get  at 
the  larva  ;  this  does  not  help  the  planter  very  much 
for  in  any  case  there  is  no  sugar. 

The   Castnia  also  bores   into  the  banana  and, 


Ii8  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

plantain,  allies  of  their  native  food  plants,  but 
hitherto  it  has  not  become  a  great  pest  to  these. 
At  any  time,  however,  especially  if  it  goes  on 
increasing,  we  may  safely  predict  it  will  become 
a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with  and  perhaps  affect 
the  supply  of  bananas.  Hitherto,  as  far  as  we  can 
gather,  it  has  only  appeared  in  one  island,  Trinidad, 
but  there  is  always  a  possibility  of  its  spreading 
over  the  world  as  the  smaller  moth,  Diatraea 
saccharalis,  appears  to  have  done  There  is  a 
genus  of  butterflies  which  feed  on  the  banana,  but 
hitherto  it  has  not  been  very  conspicuous ;  it  is 
highly  desirable,  however,  that  every  grower  should 
keep  in  view  the  fact  that  an  insect  may  always 
be  reckoned  as  a  probable  pest. 

For  many  years  the  coconut  pest  was  always 
considered  to  be  the  palm  weevil.  The  larva  of 
this  beetle  feeds  upon  the  unopened  shoot  which 
is  the  seat  of  life ;  as  there  is  only  one  growing 
point  the  tree  is  killed.  The  cultivator  has  always 
had  to  reckon  with  this,  but  latterly  another  most 
virulent  pest  has  come  to  the  front.  Avenues  of 
cabbage  palms  and  plantations  of  coconuts  that 
have  escaped  the  weevil  for  eighty  years  succumb 
to  the  butterfly,  Brassolis  sophorae.  Like  the 
Castnia,  it  appears  to  have  discovered  that  these 
cultivated  plants  are  more  juicy  than  the  wild 


THE  INSECTS.  119 

palms  to  which  it  was  formerly  confined.  Unlike 
the  weevil,  it  eats  up  the  whole  crown,  leaving  only 
the  bare  ribs.  In  some  cases,  where  the  larvae  have 
not  touched  the  growing  point,  the  palm  may 
recover,  but  that  this  is  rarely  the  case  may  be  seen 
almost  everywhere.  However,  as  their  work  is  not 
hidden  like  that  of  the  cane  borer  there  is  not  the 
same  difficulty  in  preventing  disaster. 

A  fair  number  of  the  cane  pests  come  from  wild 
grasses,  and  here  we  have  an  interesting  fact.  To 
some  extent  at  least  the  insects  are  able  to  dis- 
tinguish the  allies  of  their  regular  food  plants. 
They  are  botanists ;  probably,  however,  the  dis- 
tinction is  in  the  flavour.  In  some  cases  a  species 
feeds  on  any  one  of  a  particular  genus,  in  others 
a  whole  order  may  suit  their  taste.  The  more 
specialised  the  butterfly  or  moth  the  more  dainty 
it  is.  A  similar  thing  is  seen  in  certain  wasps ; 
the  mother  of  one  species  stores  up  spiders, 
another  grasshoppers,  a  third  moth  larvae,  and 
a  fourth  cockroaches,  but  we  never  see  them 
change  their  food  supplies.  Probably,  however, 
they  do  not  distinguish  species  but  families  or 
classes. 

The  old  saying  that  "  what  is  one  man's  meat  is 
another's  poison  "  is  conspicuously  exemplified  by 
the  food  of  butterflies  and  moths.  Every  plant — 


120  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

it  has  been  said — has  at  least  six  insects  which  feed 
upon  it ;  our  cultivated  fruit  trees  and  vegetables 
sometimes  have  a  score.  The  most  acrid  and 
poisonous  secretions  may  deter  some,  but  there 
will  be  always  one  or  two  that  can  eat  them  with 
impunity.  If  we  say  that  the  plant  has  secreted 
the  poison  to  make  its  leaves  distasteful  or  injuri- 
ous to  its  enemies,  we  may  as  safely  conclude  that 
the  attempt  has  failed.  This,  however,  is  perhaps 
only  partially  the  case,  for  the  plant  still  exists  in 
spite  of  their  ravages.  There  is  often,  especially 
in  wild  plants,  a  recuperative  power  which  renders 
attempts  at  their  destruction,  even  by  man,  utterly 
useless.  We  have  seen  plants  in  our  garden  eaten 
down  to  the  crown  of  the  root  or  bulb,  only  to 
spring  up  again  with  renewed  vigour. 

The  most  successful  in  warding  off  the  attacks 
of  larvae  are  the  mints  (Labiatae)  and  gingers 
(Zingiberaceae).  Even  these  are,  however,  not 
entirely  immune,  in  spite  of  their  acrid  secretions, 
for  some  of  the  looper  moths  feed  on  the  flowers 
of  the  Labiates,  and  Costus  is  eaten  by  a  moth  not 
yet  identified.  We  have  never  seen  Selaginellas 
eaten  by  any  insect,  although  ferns  are  by  no 
means  immune. 

Aromatic  plants  are  liked  by  many  of  the  higher 
forms  of  butterflies ;  Papilios  are  particularly  fond 


THE  INSECTS.  121 

of  the  orange  family  and  the  Aristolochias.  This 
last  genus  has  a  very  acrid  secretion  and  its  flowers 
are  sometimes  quite  offensive  to  the  smell.  The 
cousins  of  the  European  cabbage  butterfly  cannot 
find  plants  of  the  same  family  here,  so  they  feed 
upon  the  nearly  allied  Capparidacese  ;  we  have, 
however,  raised  Pontia  monuste  from  a  box  of 
mustard  plants.  It  seems  as  if  the  fact  that 
Cleome  and  mustard  are  related  was  recognised 
by  the  butterfly. 

The  bean  family  (Leguminosse)  is  well  repre- 
sented, and  quite  a  large  number  of  butterflies  and 
moths  feed  upon  the  different  species.  One  of  our 
most  interesting  butterflies  is  the  yellow  Callidryas 
eubule,  which  feeds  on  several  species  of  Cassia. 
It  has  been  noted  since  the  time  of  Columbus  for 
its  habit  of  migrating  in  great  numbers.  The 
discoverer  of  the  West  Indies  saw  a  great  flock  off 
Cuba  which  was  dispersed  by  a  storm,  and  since 
his  time  they  have  been  seen  from  the  Caribbean 
Sea  down  to  Patagonia.  Where  they  come  from 
is  as  much  a  mystery  as  their  destination.  We  have 
seen  them  crossing  the  Demerara  River  for  hours  in 
a  steady  even  flight.  At  a  distance  the  appearance 
of  a  yellow  line  was  produced,  but  near  at  hand  they 
were  seen  to  be  a  yard  or  two  apart.  Schomburgk 
timed  a  flight  as  lasting  eight  hours,  extending  up 


1*2  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  river  Essequebo  for  nine  miles.  As  far  as  we 
have  seen  all  are  males,  and  it  may  be  presumed 
that  they  are  off  in  search  of  mates.  But  we 
cannot  find  that  there  is  a  dearth  of  females  at 
any  particular  spot ;  they  are  common  enough  in 
Guiana,  and  when  larvae  are  bred  the  sexes  are 
about  equal.  We  do  not  suggest  that  the  flight  is 
one  long  journey  from  the  West  Indies  to  Patagonia, 
but  rather  that  flocks  gather  at  some  place  and 
proceed  in  a  southerly  direction  for  long  distances, 
where  they  probably  disperse.  Great  numbers  are 
lost  at  sea,  and  this  no  doubt  prevents  what  might 
be  a  serious  increase.  At  present,  however,  they 
are  not  pests  to  economic  plants. 

The  family  which  has  been  most  successful  in 
becoming  immune  to  poisons  is  the  Sphingidae,  or 
hawk-moths.  Very  few  of  these  feed  on  what  we 
should  consider  harmless  vegetables  ;  some  are, 
however,  pests  to  the  grape  vine.  Their  ravages 
on  certain  plants  are  very  destructive,  the  principal 
natural  order  being  the  Solanaceae,  and  here  a 
single  species  will  feed  on  Solanums,  including  the 
tomato  and  capsicum,  tobacco, Datura  and  Physalis, 
but  not  go  outside  the  natural  order.  Other  species 
feed  on  Apocynaceae  and  Euphorbiaceae,  both 
highly  poisonous  families.  The  damage  effected 
by  a  few  larvae  is  enormous  ;  the  growers  of  tobacco 


THE  INSECTS.  123 

and  tomatoes  suffer  great  losses  and  have  to  be  on 
the  alert. 

We  cannot  here  go  into  details  of  the  ravages  of 
the  pests  to  economic  plants,  for  the  number  is  so 
great  that  only  a  bare  list  would  be  tiresome  and 
anything  more  would  fill  a  book.  We  may 
mention,  however,  a  few  examples  of  protection 
where  the  larva  is  exposed.  One  of  the  prettiest 
examples  is  a  Hyperchiria,  which  has  its  larva 
covered  with  branching  spines  which  give  it  the 
appearance  of  a  tuft  of  green  moss.  Another 
species  has  a  brown  covering,  and  both  are  liable 
to  be  picked  up  by  a  plant  collector  at  the  risk  of 
being  pricked  and  stung.  This  stinging  by  moth 
larvae  is  very  painful  in  some  cases,  especially 
among  the  Limacodidae  and  Megalopygidae ;  we 
have  had  both  hands  swollen  and  inflamed  as  if  it 
were  erysipelas,  and  a  friend  happening  to  put  his 
hand  to  his  face  after  accidentally  touching  a 
cocoon  was  blinded  for  several  days.  Most  of 
the  members  of  these  families  are  general  feeders, 
almost  any  plant  will  suit  their  tastes.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  notwithstanding  their  elaborate 
measures  for  protection,  ichneumons  and  other 
parasites  keep  down  their  numbers. 

Insects  are  very  troublesome  in  many  ways,  but 
possibly  no  species  gives  so  much  annoyance  as 


124  JN  TH&  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  leaf-cutting  ant.  Although  it  finds  many  trees 
in  the  forest  to  suit  its  taste,  it  never  fails  to  attack 
plants  that  are  introduced  from  abroad.  Land 
has  been  taken  up  in  some  places,  only  to  be 
abandoned  when  after  many  trials  one  set  of 
economic  plants  after  another  has  been  cleared 
down  to  bare  stems.  Native  plants  are  more  or 
less  protected  ;  their  leaves  are  not  so  well  suited 
for  the  fungus  beds  or,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
trumpet-tree,  which  protects  itself  with  a  garrison 
of  stinging  ants,  their  leaves  cannot  be  obtained. 
Man  has  hardly  succeeded  in  his  struggle  with 
these  apparently  insignificant  pests.  He  fights 
them  by  puddling  their  nests,  with  sulphur,  gun- 
powder, bisulphide  of  carbon,  and  cyanide  fumes, 
but  he  hardly  exterminates  them.  They  are 
almost  too  strong  for  him. 

Yet  their  life-history  is  of  peculiar  interest  to 
the  naturalist.  The  female  and  future  mother  of 
perhaps  millions  takes  her  nuptial  flight  from  the 
original  nest,  carrying  with  her  in  her  mouth  a 
microscopic  piece  of  fungus.  She  excavates  a 
small  burrow  and  then  places  the  bit  of  what 
will  by  and  by  feed  the  whole  community  into  a 
suitable  place,  manuring  it  with  her  own  excretions. 
Then  begins  her  life-work,  the  laying  of  eggs.  A 
third  part  of  these  eggs  are  soon  hatched,  another 


THE  INSECTS.  125 

part  becomes  food  for  the  young  larvae,  the  re- 
mainder she  eats  to  sustain  her  in  her  extra- 
ordinary work.  At  this  stage  she  is  the  nurse  of 
the  young  community  and  gets  nothing  from  out- 
side. Soon,  however,  the  young  ants  come  to  her 
assistance,  the  fungus  spreads,  the  real  workers  go 
out  to  ravage  the  forest  for  leaves,  the  home  is 
enlarged,  and  very  shortly  the  fungus  beds  are 
extensive  enough  to  support  the  whole  com- 
munity. Then  the  mother  retires  to  her  cell,  and 
goes  on  with  her  egg-laying,  her  children  doing 
everything  else  and  feeding  her  and  her  young  on 
the  fungus  alone. 

South  America  is  the  home  of  a  number  of 
insects  that  are  very  troublesome  in  some  places. 
Mosquitoes,  sand-flies,  pium-flies,  a  tiny  bee  that 
sucks  the  eyelids,  a  fly  which  deposits  its  eggs 
under  the  skin  of  man  as  well  as  animals,  ticks  and 
the  jigger-flea,  all  find  out  that  we  are  not  immune 
against  their  attacks.  In  our  absence  they  still 
live,  but  no  doubt  they  have  discovered  us.  They 
have  one  drawback,  however,  which  tends  to  our 
safety  ;  their  eyes  are  microscopic.  Few  appre- 
ciate the  advantages  of  long  and  short  foci 
although  all  know  something  of  the  use  of  lenses. 
We  might  hastily  conclude  that  microscopic 
lenses  with  short  foci  would  be  useful  to  us, 


126  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

possibly  they  would  be  to  the  naturalist ;  but  our 
eyes  are  fitted  for  long  distances,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  they  are  well  suited  to  our  circumstances. 
We  can  fancy  mosquitoes  with  long  sight,  but  we 
cannot  conceive  of  man  living  with  them  under 
such  a  condition.  Were  the  billions  of  these  blood- 
suckers to  see  him  enter  their  great  preserve,  the 
swamp,  and  all  come  round  on  him  at  once,  care- 
fully made  nettings  would  have  to  be  always  worn. 
But,  fortunately,  they  have  their  limitations,  and 
when  they  see  us  at  first  it  is  probably  as  in- 
distinct shadows,  and  the  preliminary  investigation 
of  our  faces  may  be  the  result  of  some  odour  or, 
when  we  move,  of  the  vibrations  set  up  for  a  few 
yards  in  every  direction. 

Besides  the  limitation  from  microscopic  eyes 
which,  however,  see  all  the  better  at  the  right 
focal  distance,  there  is  the  drawback  to  them  of 
the  want  of  ears.  As  far  as  can  be  gathered  at 
present  insects  do  not  hear  ;  at  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, it  may  be  safely  stated  that  sounds  are  fairly 
well  distinguished  by  feeling.  We  cannot  suppose 
that  the  vibrations  which  may  indicate  the 
approach  of  enemies  are  unfelt.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  may  safely  be  presumed  that  the  antennae 
distinguish  movements  of  such  a  delicate  nature 
that  they  are  quite  inaudible  to  us. 


THE  INSECTS.  127 

When  the  collector  swings  his  net  there  is  very 
little  noise  if  it  is  carefully  handled,  but  the  insect 
feels  the  vibration  and  is  off  at  once.  When  we 
run  our  heads  into  a  wasp's  nest  we  generally  rush 
off,  and  the  vibration  caused  by  our  quick  motion 
indicates  our  course  to  the  alarmed  insects. 
Possibly  if  we  stood  quite  still  fewer  stings  would 
be  received  ;  the  bee-keeper  always  moves  quietly 
and  deliberately  to  prevent  any  alarming  vibra- 
tion. 

Nocturnal  insects  no  doubt  feel  their  way,  as  do 
also  bats.  In  the  bat  feeling  is  distributed  over 
the  whole  surface  of  the  wings,  and  in  the  insect 
we  have  often  beautiful  feathery  antennae.  There 
is  much  yet  to  be  learnt  about  these  delicate  sense 
organs  ;  they  are  so  varied  in  their  length  and  con- 
struction that  fuller  knowledge  may  show  them  to 
be  really  marvellous.  We  have  in  Guiana  a 
beautiful  moth  with  golden  wings  (Dalcera)  and 
tufts  at  the  apex  of  its  antennae.  We  were  struck 
one  day,  on  noticing  a  specimen  just  emerged  from 
its  pupa  case,  by  the  continuous  waving  back  and 
forth  of  the  antennae.  For  several  hours  they  beat 
as  regular  as  a  metronome  and  were  only  stopped 
by  the  killing-bottle. 

As  insects  are  not  hidebound  by  instinct 
altogether,  it  becomes  all  the  more  necessary  for 


128  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

us  to  study  them  carefully  from  every  standpoint. 
Nothing  is  too  insignificant ;  we  must  put  on 
record  every  little  habit  that  shows  the  hereditary 
tendencies,  as  well  as  those  that  go  to  prove  that 
they  are  being  modified  by  environment.  We 
firmly  believe  that  insects,  like  ourselves,  make 
experiments,  the  consequences  of  which,  by 
natural  selection,  become  fixed  as  hereditary 
instincts.  They  discover  us,  our  domestic  animals, 
and  our  cultivated  plants.  Some  will  say  that 
possibly  it  is  only  a  discovery,  due  to  closer  obser- 
vation by  ourselves,  when  we  first  meet  a  new 
pest ;  that  it  had  long  been  there  but  hitherto  we 
had  not  seen  it.  Some  may  have  been  so,  but 
certainly  not  all.  Our  cultivated  plants  have  been 
carried  off  from  their  original  habitats  and  all  have 
been  discovered  by  insects  which  had  not  hitherto 
seen  them. 

In  self-defence  we  must  continue  our  war  with 
these  plagues.  No  gardener,  planter,  or  forester 
can  afford  to  ignore  them.  The  cry  is  that  they 
are  increasing  everywhere,  and  quarantine  is  being 
enforced  in  most  countries.  Notwithstanding  all 
our  efforts,  however,  still  they  come.  If  outsiders 
are  excluded  we  cannot  provide  against  our  own. 
Almost  every  year  new  pests  come  to  the  front 
and  must  be  studied.  In  some  cases  we  have 


THE  INSECTS.  129 

learnt  to  reduce  their  numbers,  in  others  we  are 
almost  inclined  to  despair.  Some  economic 
plants  have  had  to  be  given  up  in  certain  places, 
to  be  replaced  by  others  which  perhaps  in  their 
turn  may  be  abandoned. 

Some  impression  has  been  made  in  temperate 
climes,  but  the  tropical  pests  have  yet  to  be  con- 
quered. Man  is  weaker — animal  and  vegetable 
life  stronger — where  there  is  no  winter.  Every- 
thing here  is  burning  with  energy  except  man. 

It  is  only  of  late  years  that  the  study  of  the 
interdependence  of  man  on  animals  and  plants — 
animals  on  plants  and  plants  on  animals — has  been 
commenced.  The  problems  are  innumerable,  and 
perhaps  never  will  be  solved.  A  century  ago  the 
farmer  looked  upon  plagues  as  almost  super- 
natural, now  we  see  that  they  are  a  part  of  the 
great  system  or  constitution  of  things.  They  must 
not  be  dealt  with  too  hastily,  for  already  mistakes 
have  been  made  by  treating  friends  as  foes.  We 
are  not  yet  in  a  position  to  always  tell  whether 
a  species  may  not  be  useful.  It  has  lately  been 
suggested  as  at  least  probable  that  the  fertiliser  of 
cacao  is  a  species  of  thrips.  Hitherto  this  family 
has  been  considered  unmitigated  pests,  to  be 
ruthlessly  destroyed  wherever  found.  Wasps  are 
not  generally  classed  with  our  friends,  but  some  of 
9 


130  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

them,  especially  the  solitary  kinds,  are  very  useful 
as  they  keep  down  other  insects,  many  of  which 
are  noxious.  The  same  may  be  said  of  flies  and 
beetles  ;  the  whole  class  must  not  be  stigmatised  as 
plagues  because  of  a  few. 

Insects  find  out  new  plants  and  get  away  from 
their  enemies  ;  these  also  follow  them  after  a  time. 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  pest  has  got  into  snug 
quarters  where  it  gets  better  fed  than  its  brethren 
who  have  nothing  but  the  hardy,  protected  trees 
of  the  forest.  For  a  time  it  flourishes  to  an 
extent  hitherto  quite  unknown.  At  last,  however, 
it  may  be  many  years  after,  their  enemies  discover 
them.  Now  we  get  a  grand  fight.  The  pests  have 
increased  to  a  wonderful  extent  but  their  foes  are 
upon  them.  Not  one  species  but  sometimes  a 
dozen  or  more.  As  many  as  thirty  distinct 
parasites  have  been  seen  coming  from  one  kind  of 
hawk-moth.  Now  the  pest  diminishes,  and  later 
the  parasites,  which  had  come  to  the  front,  get 
fewer  and  fewer  as  their  food  becomes  scarce. 
Neither  the  pest  nor  its  foes  are,  however,  entirely 
gone,  they  are  only  scotched.  Presently  the  one 
begins  to  recover  and  the  agriculturist  cries  out 
that  the  plague  has  come  again.  So  it  may  go  on 
for  ever,  notwithstanding  all  man's  efforts.  We 
may  try  our  level  best  to  put  down  some  enemy 


THE  INSECTS.  131 

to  our  cultivation  and  after  all  make  very  little 
if  any  impression ;  the  wilderness  is  behind  and 
the  supplies  from  that  source  may  come  upon  us 
even  were  it  possible  to  eradicate  every  pest  from 
our  fields. 

-Clean  cultivation,  however,  does  something  to 
diminish  the  plagues,  and  here  also  the  careful 
study  of  economic  insects  comes  in.  Unless  we 
know  them  we  are  left  in  the  position  of  the 
cotton-grower  who  once  spoke  of  "  the  blast "  and 
"  the  shrivel "  as  responsible  for  the  failure  of  his 
crops.  With  only  vague  notions  of  causes  we  can 
hardly  expect  to  do  anything  at  all.  "  Knowledge 
is  power  "  in  this  as  in  many  other  things. 


VII. 

INTERDEPENDENCE  OF  PLANTS  AND 
ANIMALS. 

ONE  day  in  passing  along  a  creek,  we  had  an 
experience  which  set  us  a-thinking.  We  were 
collecting  orchids,  and  up  in  a  tree  overhanging 
the  water  was  lodged  a  great  clump  of  Oncidium 
altissimum,  its  long  graceful  flower-stems  loaded 
with  yellow  butterfly-like  blossoms  hanging  over 
in  every  direction.  It  was  a  magnificent  plant, 
fully  four  feet  thick,  with  panicles  rising  to  a 
height  of  twelve  feet.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
we  wanted  it  for  our  collection,  and  that  we  sent 
one  of  our  boatmen  to  fetch  it  down  as  carefully 
as  possible.  This,  however,  was  easier  said  than 
done,  for,  first  it  was  attached  to  the  tree,  then  it 
was  threaded,  as  it  were,  with  a  number  of  bush- 
ropes,  and  finally  more  or  less  entangled  in  a 
crowd  of  branches.  Taking  a  cutlass,  the  negro 

climbed  up  to  its  level  and  began  to  chop  at  the 

132 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  133 

obstruction,  but  almost  immediately  came  down 
with  a  run,  rubbing  his  hands  and  face  and  picking 
a  swarm  of  ants  from  his  clothes.  Looking  up  we 
could  see  that  the  attack  on  the  plant  had  brought 
out  its  garrison,  which  blackened  every  leaf  and 
flower-stem,  and  made  the  negro  descend  in 
such  hot  haste.  We  will  not  go  into  details  as  to 
how  we  procured  the  plant  at  last,  but  only  men- 
tion that  the  ants  kept  us  at  bay  for  fully  half  an 
hour  before  we  could  throw  it  into  the  stream. 
Then  came  the  work  of  getting  rid  of  the  virulent 
insects  by  pushing  the  whole  mass  under  water 
with  a  long  bamboo,  and  keeping  our  bateau  up- 
stream to  prevent  their  coming  on  board.  As  the 
roots  became  soaked  the  creek  became  covered 
with  black  patches,  and  it  was  quite  a  work  to 
keep  them  from  running  along  the  bamboo. 
Presently,  however,  several  larger  forms  were  seen 
swimming  in  the  water,  and  these  turned  out  to  be 
cockroaches,  which  also  went  floating  down  with 
the  ants.  But  we  had  not  yet  dislodged  all  the 
occupants,  for  soon  a  large  centipede  was  seen 
struggling  in  the  crowd,  and,  as  may  be  supposed, 
we  did  not  hurry  to  take  in  the  plant  until  sure 
that  this  was  the  only  one  of  its  kind  harboured  by 
the  Oncidium. 

One  of  the  party  suggested  that  this  was  "a 


134  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

happy  family,"  but  we  could  hardly  agree  with  him 
if  he  meant  that  they  dwelt  at  peace  with  each 
other.  To  us  it  brought  up  the  great  problem  of 
the  dependence  of  plants  on  the  natural  elements, 
of  animals  on  plants,  and  these  again  on  other 
animals.  By  means  of  the  soil,  water,  air,  and 
light,  the  forest  tree  rose  beside  the  creek,  and  up 
it  had  grown  the  elegant  bignonia,  whose  flowers 
were  hanging  so  gracefully  far  overhead,  and  whose 
stems  stretched  like  cords  from  base  to  summit. 
On  a  fork  of  the  tree,  and  among  the  bush-ropes, 
the  orchid  had  found  a  congenial  habitat,  where  it 
grew  and  flourished  for  years,  developing  a  great 
mass  of  roots  to  be  occupied  by  the  immense  horde 
of  ants.  The  plant  might  perhaps  have  lived  with- 
out such  tenants,  but  it  is  most  probable  that  its 
flourishing  condition  was  mainly  due  to  these  little 
creatures.  For,  they  were  there  with  consent,  and 
in  return  for  house  accommodation  undertook  to 
keep  off  the  enemies  of  the  orchid,  of  which  the 
cockroach  was  one  of  the  most  inveterate.  Why, 
then,  were  these  pests  allowed  to  be  present  ?  We 
can  only  suppose  that  the  attraction  of  the  plant 
drew  them,  and  that  they  had  not  yet  been  cap- 
tured. For  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  even 
this  omnivorous  insect  will  be  deterred  from 
attempting  to  get  a  delicious  meal  simply  because 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  135 

its  enemies  are  in  the  fore.  Again,  was  not  that 
one  of  the  reasons  why  the  ants  were  so  ready 
to  take  up  their  abode  among  the  orchid 
roots?  Where  its  food  was  to  be  found  the 
cockroach  would  certainly  come,  and  the  ant  as 
certainly  find  its  prey.  And  what  shall  we  say 
of  the  centipede?  Like  the  ant  it  loves  a  fat 
cockroach,  and  was  present  in  hopes  of  finding 
one. 

We  might  carry  this  example  of  interdependence 
still  farther,  although  the  other  developments 
did  not  come  so  immediately  under  our  notice. 
The  tree  was  a  cassia,  and  far  above  us 
exhibited  a  glow  of  yellow  from  its  being 
literally  covered  with  golden  blossoms,  over 
which  were  flitting  hundreds  of  sulphur-coloured 
butterflies,  hard  at  work  sipping  nectar,  and 
at  the  same  time  carrying  on  the  grand  work 
of  fertilisation.  The  tree  is  a  conspicuous 
object  from  a  long  distance,  the  butterflies  are 
attracted  to  it  in  hopes  of  procuring  food, 
in  sipping  the  nectar  they  fertilise  the  flower 
and  thus  enable  the  etabally  to  procreate  its 
species.  The  first  stage  in  the  life  of  the 
insect  was  passed  on  the  same  tree.  The 
butterfly  sips  the  nectar  and  then  deposits 
its  eggs  on  the  under  surface  of  the  leaves, 
from  whence  come  a  host  of  larvae  to  spread 


136  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

devastation  all  around,  perhaps  leaving  the  tree 
almost  bare.  But  this  is  little  more  than  a  rough 
pruning,  which  causes  it  to  flower  all  the  more 
freely  and  produce  a  greater  supply  of  nectar  for 
the  perfect  insect. 

Advancing  another  step  we  see  that  the  seed 
produced  through  the  medium  of  the  butterfly 
attracts  birds  and  monkeys  in  the  day,  with  bats 
above  and  rodents  beneath  at  night,  those  above 
playing  havoc  among  the  branches,  quarrelling  and 
fighting  with  each  other  for  the  fruit  and  dropping 
them  by  thousands  to  feed  the  nocturnal  prowlers. 
Finding  the  tree  so  convenient  the  birds  pair,  build 
their  nests  and  bring  up  their  young  upon  it.  Now 
for  another  aspect :  the  host  of  caterpillars  bring  a 
crowd  of  insectivorous  birds,  which  also  make 
themselves  at  home  in  the  midst  of  such  a  grand 
feast.  These  are  accompanied  by  a  host  of  flies 
which  have  scented  their  prey  from  afar,  and  now 
come  to  help  carry  on  the  work  of  preventing  the 
larvae  from  going  too  far  ;  and,  because  the  flies  are 
there,  the  goatsucker  comes  hovering  round  at  night. 
Unlike  the  birds,  however,  the  flies  do  not  kill  out- 
right, but,  as  it  were,  take  possession  of  them  for 
the  benefit  of  their  offspring.  Piercing  the  skin  of 
a  larva  they  deposit  their  eggs  underneath,  so  that 
when  they  hatch  the  young  have  free  range  of  their 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  13? 

host,  and  eat  up  everything  but  what  is  then  the 
membraneous  covering  of  a  pupa. 

Now  we  come  to  a  further  aspect  of  this  interde- 
pendence. Hawks  soar  overhead,  and  hearing  the 
loud  chatter  of  parrots  and  other  birds,  now  and 
again  pounce  down  and  drive  them  to  hide  in  the 
densest  part  of  the  canopy  of  foliage.  But,  even 
here  they  are  met  by  a  new  misfortune,  for  snakes 
have  climbed  from  below  to  get  their  share  of  the 
good  things,  and  are  ready  to  pounce  upon  them 
as  they  flutter  away  from  the  hawk.  Down  below, 
in  the  lower  branches  or  on  the  ground,  the  jaguar, 
puma,  or  ocelot,  lies  in  wait,  and  he  also  lives 
because  that  cloud  of  yellow  butterflies  gambolled 
about  the  flowers  a  few  months  ago. 

Besides  all  these  the  seeds  and  fruit  of  forest 
trees  go  to  feed  the  shoals  of  fish  which  make  their 
way  from  the  great  rivers,  and  swim  about  every- 
where during  the  flood.  On  account  of  their 
presence  the  great  jabiru,  or  giant  stork,  frequents 
the  inundated  tracts,  and  vies  with  the  alligator 
and  the  Indian  for  a  share  of  the  finny  spoil. 

We  might  go  on  further  and  tell  of  the  weevils 
which  bore  into  the  fruit  as  it  lies  on  the  ground,  of 
the  cockroaches  and  great  beetle  larvae  with  their 
parasites,  and  of  the  ants  and  scorpions  which  hunt 
these,  and  of  the  thousand  animaculae  which  also 


138  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

obtain  their  share  of  what  nature  has  lavished  so 
freely.  All  these  get  their  fill,  and  yet  there  are 
always  more  seeds  left  than  can  find  room  to  grow. 
But  we  will  go  on  to  another  scene. 

In  the  savannah  rises  a  great  eta  palm,  perhaps 
sixty  feet  high,  its  mass  of  roots  standing  above 
the  water  as  a  mound,  from  whence  proceed  the 
rough  but  bare  stem  to  a  height  of  fifty  feet,  where 
the  great  dome  of  fan-shaped  leaves  crowns  its 
apex.  Here  are  no  rivals  of  its  own  kind,  no  bush 
ropes  or  smothering  creepers,  and  hardly  anything 
to  dispute  its  claim  as  monarch  of  all  it  surveys. 
Even  here,  however,  are  signs  of  interdependence. 
Below  the  crown  stand  the  remains  of  a  hundred 
clasping  leaf-stalks  of  different  ages,  their  axils 
filled  with  decaying  vegetable  matter,  in  which  revel 
the  aerial  roots  of  that  unique  orchid,  Catasetum 
longifolium.  With  ribbon-like,  flexible  leaves 
streaming  downwards  and  great  flower-spikes 
slightly  bent  outwards  to  greet  the  sunlight,  this 
plant  also  appears  to  have  no  rivals.  However,  we 
want  the  orchids  and  must  get  them,  and  the  only 
way  to  do  this  safely  is  by  cutting  down  the  beauti- 
ful palm.  We  regret  this  necessity,  and  even  go  so 
far  as  to  send  one  of  the  negroes  (a  well-known 
cocoanut  gatherer)  to  bring  down  a  plant.  But  he 
gets  startled  at  a  small  gecko  lizard,  and  with  a 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  139 

cry  of  "  A  wood-slave  bite  me,"  comes  down  with 
nothing  but  one  of  the  Catasetum  bulbs,  which 
he  has  hurriedly  torn  off  in  his  fright.  The  poor 
little  reptile  could  not  injure  him  in  any  way,  but 
as  our  specimens  would  be  useless  if  torn  to  pieces, 
we  resolve  to  cut  down  the  palm.  At  first  the 
axe  rings  on  the  hard  trunk,  as  if  both  instead  of 
one  were  made  of  steel,  but  presently,  as  an  entrance 
is  made,  the  wood  proves  quite  soft.  Then  the 
mighty  prince  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  as  Lin- 
naeus would  have  called  it,  bends  over,  comes  crash- 
ing down,  and  throws  up  sheets  of  water  and  mud 
as  it  strikes  the  surface  of  the  swamp.  We  wade 
towards  the  crown  and  begin  feeling  below  for  the 
Catasetums,  and  presently  notice  that  the  water  is 
black  with  ants,  which  soon  make  their  presence 
known  most  unmistakably  by  their  virulent  bites. 
However,  we  are  not  to  be  daunted  by  these  pests, 
and  soon  manage  to  loosen  an  orchid,  bringing 
up  with  it  a  nest  of  hairy  spiders,  the  dreaded 
wood-slave,  a  little  harmless  snake,  quite  a  number 
of  cockroaches,  and  two  or  three  beetles.  We  also 
discover  that  several  plants  have  entered  into  com- 
petition with  the  Catasetums,  including  a  small 
species  of  Vanilla,  a  few  ferns,  and  one  of  the 
Bignoniaceae. 

Like  an  island  in  the  sea  this  palm  crown  stood 


i4o  iff  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

far  away  from  dry  land,  till  it  became  a  little 
world  in  itself,  with  carnivorous  and  herbivorous 
animals,  and  plants,  all  living,  fighting,  and  killing 
each  other,  but  still  keeping  up  the  balance  of  life. 

Although  we  are  continually  speaking  of  "  the 
struggle  for  existence"  and  "survival  of  the  fittest," 
few,  it  seems,  are  able  to  appreciate  what  these 
sentences  mean,  but  to  the  naturalist  in  the  forest 
they  are  full  of  suggestions.  If  it  were  possible  to 
have  absolute  peace  throughout  a  world  where 
there  was  no  difficulty,  sickness,  or  death,  it  could 
only  consist  with  a  dulness  of  which  we  can  hardly 
have  any  conception.  From  the  lowest  plant  to 
the  highest  animal,  all  have  to  work  hard  and  get 
material  to  build  up  and  keep  alive  those  beautiful 
structures  which  we  admire  so  much.  Except  a 
very  few,  all  live  by  the  destruction  of  others,  and 
have  to  be  continually  trying  to  circumvent  their 
neighbours  to  escape  extermination.  How  exactly 
they  are  fitted  to  contend  with  adverse  circum- 
stances is  shown  by  the  fact  that  so  many  survive, 
and  although  in  the  long  ages  which  have  passed 
since  life  first  originated  on  the  earth,  the  destruction 
has  undoubtedly  been  enormous,  it  must  have  been 
always  of  little  importance  in  comparison  with  the 
survivals. 

This  is  beautifully  exemplified  in   a  thousand 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  141 

ways.  Here  in  the  forest  we  see  evidence  of 
enormous  developments  having  taken  place  in 
the  past,  and,  what  is  of  far  greater  importance, 
actually  in  progress  before  our  eyes.  Some  objec- 
tors to  evolution  have  gone  so  far  as  to  state  that 
variation  is  mainly  due  to  man's  interference ;  but 
when  it  is  considered  that  cultivation  is  applied  for 
the  purpose  of  perpetuating  certain  characters,  and 
developing  them  at  the  expense  of  others,  we  see 
at  once  this  cannot  be  true.  Even  the  original 
divergences  which  he  utilises  took  place  entirely 
apart  from  his  influence,  and  however  he  may  try 
to  produce  certain  changes,  he  can  never  succeed 
unless  the  initiative  has  already  been  taken. 

The  examples  we  have  just  given  are  illustrations 
of  the  more  active  side  of  the  great  struggle,  but  a 
thousand  others  might  be  quoted  where  plants  at 
first  sight  appear  almost  passive.  Yet  even  here  a 
grand  work  is  always  in  progress,  in  every  case  more 
or  less  connected  with  the  interdependence  between 
one  life  and  another.  Without  the  tree  the  epi- 
phyte or  parasite  could  not  exist  as  such,  without 
the  flower  the  bee  would  be  starved,  and  without  the 
numerous  fertilising  agents  most  plants  would  be 
unable  to  produce  seeds.  In  temperate  climates 
the  woods  are  made  up  of  two  or  three  species — 
sometimes  of  only  one.  These  blossom  almost 


142  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

simultaneously,  and  their  pollen  floats  upon  the 
wind  to  long  distances.  Here  in  the  tropics,  how- 
ever, things  are  different — the  wind  has  little  power 
over  such  a  mass  of  foliage.  Whether  looked  upon 
from  above  or  examined  carefully  from  beneath  the 
undulating  roof  seems  perfectly  still.  The  branches 
are  rigid,  the  leaves  stiff,  and  even  the  flowers  thick 
in  texture.  There  is  nothing  comparable  with  the 
birch  or  beech,  much  less  the  trembling  aspen. 
The  changes  produced  by  a  sudden  gust  upon 
these  trees  are  entirely  unknown  here,  as  are  also 
those  beautiful  effects  of  light  and  shade  which 
delight  the  painter  and  poet.  It  follows  also  that 
such  yellow  clouds  of  pollen  as  hover  round  the 
pines  are  entirely  wanting,  there  not  being,  as  far 
as  can  be  seen,  a  single  wind-fertilised  tree  in  all 
the  Guiana  forest. 

Being  unable  to  utilise  the  air  currents  the  flowers 
have  had  to  look  round  for  efficient  substitutes,  and 
these  are  found  in  the  host  of  insects  which  hang 
in  clouds  over  the  forest  canopy  at  night  and  buzz 
around  in  swarms  during  the  day.  Even  birds  are 
utilised  by  some  of  the  larger  flowers,  the  pollen 
collecting  on  the  bristles  at  the  root  of  their  beaks- 
Without  living  helpmates  many  a  tree  would  become 
extinct,  therefore  every  effort  is  put  forth  to  attract 
and  induce  winged  creatures  to  render  this  assist- 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  143 

ance.  The  principal  means  to  this  end  are  colours 
and  perfumes,  the  former  for  diurnal  and  the  latter 
for  nocturnal  insects.  Brilliant  colours  are  of  them- 
selves sufficient  to  attract  butterflies  and  bees — lurid 
and  dull  tints  are  usually  accompanied  by  odours 
more  or  less  disagreeable  to  our  senses  but  pleasant 
to  flies.  It  might  be  suggested  that  in  the  one  case 
the  flowers  are  gaudy  because  they  are  open  to  the 
fierce  rays  of  the  tropical  sun,  while  the  others  are 
the  contrary,  on  account  of  their  blooming  in  the 
shade.  But,  with  the  apparent  capability  of  choos- 
ing between  the  ends  of  the  branches,  the  axils 
of  the  leaves,  and  the  trunk,  all  attain  their  object, 
whichever  place  they  have  selected.  Here  and 
there  in  the  forest  we  come  upon  a  tree  the  flower 
stems  of  which  originate  below  the  canopy  of  leaves, 
and  this  appears  so  strange  that  we  wonder  why 
such  exceptions  occur  and  what  particular  advantage 
is  derived  from  this  position.  Except  that  here 
they  are  more  in  the  way  of  the  shade-loving 
insects  we  know  of  no  other  reason,  and  must  at 
least  accept  this  provisionally.  The  cacao  is  an 
interesting  example,  and  it  can  hardly  be  con- 
sidered as  having  degenerated,  but  rather  as 
being  most  beautifully  fitted  to  its  environment. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  much  of  the  hand- 
some flowers  that  bask  in  the  sun  and  derive  their 


144  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

glowing  colours  from  his  rays.  We  may,  however, 
mention  those  which  open  early  in  the  morning 
and  close  before  the  light  becomes  too  strong  for 
their  delicate  complexions.  Perhaps  the  best- 
known  example  is  the  morning  glory,  but  other 
Convolvulaceae,  orchids,  and  bignonias  are  equally 
striking.  Then,  again,  there  are  species  which 
cannot  bear  the  least  dampness,  but  wait  until  the 
sun  is  well  up  before  they  open,  and  close  again 
as  the  shadows  lengthen  or  earlier  in  cloudy 
weather.  Another  class  open  towards  nightfall, 
but  these  approach  that  very  large  division  which 
is  nocturnal  in  its  habits. 

What  a  glorious  assemblage  are  the  night 
bloomers  !  The  Victoria  regia,  the  Cereus  and 
other  Cacti,  the  Daturas,  with  a  host  of  other 
white  flowers,  all  open  at  sunset,  distil  their 
perfumes  and  diffuse  them  through  the  damp  air. 
Then  come  those  other  white  flowers  which  remain 
open  during  the  day,  but  continue  almost,  or  quite, 
scentless  until  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 
burning  sun  at  nightfall.  In  the  forest  many  trees 
bear  insignificant-looking  greenish-white  flowers, 
hardly  worth  looking  at.  But,  paddle  along  near 
the  bank  of  the  river  at  night,  and  you  will  be 
astonished  at  the  different  perfumes  wafted  from 
these  poor  little  blossoms.  Now,  it  is  an  odour  of 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  14$ 

the  jasmine  type,  so  strong  as  to  be  quite  sickly, 
and  anon  one  of  those  half-aromatic  scents  which 
almost  exhilarates.  Where  they  come  from  or 
to  what  tree  they  belong  it  is  impossible  to  say — 
perhaps  they  are  being  distilled  by  a  tree  close  to 
the  bank,  or  it  may  be  by  one  of  which  we  know 
nothing,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  point  in  connection 
with  these  perfumes  is  that  they  are  distilled  at 
certain  times,  and  then  only  for  short  periods. 
Sometimes  the  flower  opens,  carries  on  its  work 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  closes,  either 
altogether,  or  in  a  few  cases,  to  repeat  the  process 
at  the  same  hour  next  day.  These  latter  are,  how- 
ever, the  exceptions  ;  as  a  rule  the  flowers  remain 
open,  but  apparently  quiescent,  until  the  time 
comes  round  to  resume  work.  This  is  beautifully 
exemplified  in  certain  orchids,  and  sometimes 
causes  great  disappointment  to  their  owners. 
Perhaps  you  have  been  telling  a  friend  of  the 
delicious  perfume  of  Burlingtonia  fragrans  ;  that 
it  brought  to  your  memory  a  pretty  lane  in  the 
old  country,  where  as  a  child  you  used  to  go  and 
smell  out  the  sweet  violets  when  they  were  so  hidden 
among  the  leaves  that  you  could  hardly  find  them 
otherwise.  "  Come  along !  "  you  say,  and  take 
him  to  the  flower.  "  Is  it  not  delicious  ?  Does 

10 


146  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

it  not  bring  up  the  old  memories  ?  What  a  close 
resemblance !  "  Your  enthusiasm  carries  you 
away,  and  you  expect  an  eager  response.  But 
no,  not  a  word  does  he  say,  although  his  politeness 
prevents  him  from  contradicting  you.  The  fact  is 
the  flower  has  already  done  its  work  for  the  day, 
and  not  the  slightest  trace  of  perfume  lingers  on 
its  beautiful  petals. 

This  is  by  no  means  uncommon,  in  fact,  inter- 
mittent distillation  is  almost  general  in  the  white 
flowers  of  the  tropics.  Even  in  temperate  climates 
there  is  a  striking  difference  between  the  amount 
of  perfume  given  out  at  different  times,  but  rarely 
are  the  flowers  quite  scentless  at  any  time.  It 
might  be  thought  at  first  that  these  alternations 
were  erratic,  but  close  observation  shows  that  they 
are  nearly  true  to  the  minute,  and  if  carefully 
timed  would  almost  certainly  be  found  to  coincide 
with  the  period  when  the  fertilising  agent  is  on 
the  wing.  For  this  is  the  simple  explanation  ;  the 
flower  can  only  be  fertilised  by  a  particular  kind 
of  insect,  and  all  its  efforts  are  put  forth  when  that 
insect  is  likely  to  be  hovering  around.  Without 
the  flowers  the  bee  could  not  exist,  and  without 
the  bee  no  seed  would  be  produced.  That  this 
interdependence  is  complete  can  be  easily  proved 
in  our  gardens,  as  indeed  it  is  also  patent  to  every 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  147 

one  who  has  a  conservatory  in  other  countries. 
Without  some  particular  insect  the  plant  flowers 
over  and  over  again  without  producing  a  single 
perfect  seed,  and  as  this  agent  does  not  exist  away 
from  its  native  habitat  the  plant  remains  barren. 

That  there  should  be  such  a  nice  arrangement 
seems  more  than  mere  coincidence,  and  even  shows 
design  in  the  plant  rather  than  the  animal.  We 
may  perhaps  say  that  the  insect  fixes  its  dinner- 
hour  at  the  time  when  its  food  is  ready,  but  in  the 
cases  of  many  perfect  insects  their  life  is  so  short 
that  preparation  would  have  to  be  made  in  the 
pupal  stage.  It  is  therefore  easier  to  suppose  that 
the  first  choice  was  made  by  the  plant.  The 
interdependence  is,  however,  so  very  close  that  it 
is  just  as  hard  to  decide  in  favour  of  one  as  of 
the  other. 

The  shapes  of  flowers,  like  their  perfumes  and 
colours,  also  show  wonderful  adaptations  of  means 
to  a  particular  end.  The  great  tubular  flowers  are 
just  deep  enough  to  allow  the  long  proboscis  of 
the  humble  bee  or  moth  to  explore  their  depths. 
Again,  we  are  met  with  the  question,  was  the  con- 
trivance of  the  flower  or  the  bee  adopted  first? 
We  can  conceive  that  in  some  past  age  this  deep 
funnel  was  but  shallow  ;  probably  made  up  of  fine 
separate  petals  and  as  wide  open  as  a  buttercup. 


148  77V  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Bees  kept  up  a  continual  irritation  in  their  search 
for  nectar,  and  caused  the  sensitive  stigma  to 
recoil  as  it  were  and  bring  its  petals  closer 
together.  Only  the  bees  with  the  longest  pro- 
boscis could  now  reach  the  reservoir,  but  there 
were  still  enough  of  these  to  keep  up  the  irritation. 
As  generation  after  generation  passed,  the  deepen- 
ing and  elongation  still  continued,  until  now  we 
have  flowers  with  tubes  six  inches  or  more  in 
depth,  and  humble  bees,  the  proboscids  of  which 
are  able  to  sip  nectar  from  the  very  deepest,  at 
the  same  time  performing  the  necessary  work  of 
fertilisation. 

A  great  deal  more  might  be  said  of  flowers, 
but  we  are  unable  to  deal  with  other  than  a  few 
of  their  contrivances,  and  must  proceed  to  the  fruit. 
Here  also  the  interdependence  of  plants  and  animals 
is  beautifully  exemplified.  But,  instead  of  insects, 
we  now  have  to  deal  with  birds,  bats,  rodents, 
monkeys,  and  even  fishes.  Most  of  the  fruits  of 
the  tropics  have  succeeded  in  protecting  them- 
selves against  insects,  and  are  consequently  never 
subject  to  the  attacks  of  wasps  like  their  cousins 
of  more  temperate  climes.  It  is  true  that  beetles 
make  sad  havoc  among  them,  but  otherwise,  their 
thick  skins  are  impenetrable  to  anything  smaller 
than  birds  or  bats.  The  orange  family  seems  to 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  149 

have  even  gone  farther,  and  by  means  of  bitter 
secretions  and  stinging  essential  oils  kept  off  all 
comers.  Other  fruits  have  not  gone  so  far, 
although  many  of  them  try  their  best,  with  thick 
skins  impregnated  with  tannin,  and  in  some  cases 
poisonous  milky  juices,  to  preserve  their  edible 
seeds  from  destruction.  Few,  however,  succeed  in 
this — the  animals  have  learnt  to  peel  them  and  get 
their  share. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  large  class  of  fruits  are 
obviously  intended  to  attract.  It  is  not  to  the 
advantage  of  a  tree  that  its  seed  shall  lie  round 
the  trunk  and  be  lost  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
It  has  therefore  followed  that  efforts  have  been 
made  to  provide  something  to  feed  the  animals, 
but  at  the  same  time  to  protect  the  life-germ  from 
extinction.  This  is  often  done  by  covering  the 
seed  with  a  hard  shell,  outside  of  which  comes  the 
luscious  pulp  which  forms  the  attraction.  Birds 
sometimes  carry  food  to  long  distances,  to  eat  at 
leisure  or  to  feed  the  young,  and  thus  the  seeds  are 
dispersed  in  every  direction.  Sometimes  they  are 
eaten  and  ejected  without  injury,  in  fact,  rather 
with  benefit  as  far  as  can  be  judged — most  of  the 
figs  and  loranths  are  examples  of  this.  Where 
there  are  bats  their  lurking  places  are  often 
strewed  with  fruit,  more  or  less  disfigured  on  the 


ISO  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

outside,  but  never  really  injured  as  far  as  the 
germinating  power  is  concerned.  These  little 
creatures  hang  in  large  numbers  about  the  festoons 
of  creepers  which  border  the  creeks  or  inside 
hollow  trees,  and  do  a  great  deal  towards  dispers- 
ing the  seeds  by  bringing  them  within  reach  of 
the  flood.  As  nearly  all  of  them  float  they  are 
carried  down  the  stream  and  scattered  in  a  thousand 
places  which  otherwise  they  could  never  reach,  even 
finding  their  way  to  the  shores  of  Africa,  Portugal, 
and  England. 

Without  the  flowers  and  fruit  the  forest  would 
be  entirely  deprived  of  animal  life,  and  in  the 
absence  of  the  clouds  of  insects  not  a  seed  could 
be  perfected.  The  interdependence  is  so  close  that 
they  appear  as  if  striving  with  each  other  to  see 
which  can  get  ahead.  Trees  secrete  poisonous 
juices  to  keep  off  larvae,  but  the  caterpillars  do 
not  mind  that.  They  only  develop  a  greater 
power  of  digestion  and  assimilation  so  as  to  be 
able  to  thrive  on  the  poison.  However  dry  and 
harsh,  thick  and  leathery,  hairy,  scaly  or  bristly, 
the  leaves  may  be,  some  insect  can  be  found 
capable  of  devouring  them  without  injury  to  itself. 
It  would  never  do  for  a  plant  to  lay  itself  open 
altogether  to  their  attacks,  as  then  its  extinction 
would  be  certain,  therefore  it  tries  its  best  to  ward 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS.  151 

them  off.  Those  who  do  not  put  on  armour 
generally  protect  themselves  by  acrid,  bitter  and 
poisonous  secretions.  No  doubt  they  succeed  to 
a  certain  extent,  but  it  always  happens  that  some 
of  their  foes  still  get  the  better  of  them. 

Finally,  the  geological  formation  of  a  district 
has  considerable  influence  on  the  distribution  of 
life.  Apart  from  the  obvious  fact  that  a  desert 
must  be  almost  devoid  of  life,  there  are  differences 
between  hill  and  dale,  sandstone  and  granite,  and 
clay  and  gravel,  which  result  in  corresponding 
variations  in  the  fauna  and  flora.  In  British 
Guiana  some  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  they 
can  tell  when  an  auriferous  district  has  been 
reached  by  the  prevalence  of  certain  kinds  of 
birds  and  monkeys.  This  can  be  easily  under- 
stood when  the  close  connection  of  the  trees  with 
the  soil,  and  the  fruit  with  the  animals,  is  con- 
sidered. As  in  the  case  of  civilised  countries  the 
number  of  inhabitants  depends  a  great  deal  on 
the  food  supply,  so  here  the  denizens  of  the  forest 
vary  from  the  same  cause. 


VIII. 

THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 

IN  the  forest  we  are  among  a  great  crowd,  com- 
pared with  which  the  largest  assemblages  of  people 
are  infinitely  little.  There  is  absolutely  no  room 
for  a  single  addition  until  one  of  the  number  suc- 
cumbs to  the  continual  strain,  or  is  conquered  in 
the  fight.  Standing  room  is  all  they  require,  but 
few  succeed  in  obtaining  enough  space  to  stretch 
their  arms.  Above  our  heads  is  a  verdant  roof 
which  shuts  out  every  ray  of  sunlight  from  beneath, 
and  we  wander  among  the  columns  of  this  great 
structure  as  if  it  were  the  mazes  of  some  intermin- 
able cave.  The  columns  are  enormous  brown 
pillars  or  stalactites,  stretching  from  floor  to  roof, 
their  resemblance  to  the  work  of  an  architect 
being  increased  by  the  almost  universal  provision 
of  buttresses. 

All  are  on  the  same  level.     No  individual  can 

afford  to  let  another  get  above  him.     Every  one  is 

152 


CLUSIA    FLOURISHING   ON    CORAL   TREE. 


To  face  p.  152. 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  153 

straining  upwards  to  obtain  a  little  more  sunlight, 
but  there  are  no  laggards.  It  is  rare  indeed  for  a 
giant  mora  or  silk-cotton  tree  to  rise  above  its 
fellows,  so  that  looked  at  from  above  the  surface  is 
a  uniform  level — a  verdant  plain,  undulating  with 
the  ground  on  which  it  stands.  Thousands  of  little 
streams  flow  through  its  arcades  without  breaking 
the  continuity,  but  here  and  there  a  great  river 
produces  the  effect  of  an  embankment,  as  the 
forest  slopes  down  into  the  water. 

To  the  casual  observer  inside  the  forest  every- 
thing appears  almost  lifeless.  These  gigantic 
buttressed  pillars  are  emblems  of  strength  and 
power,  but  they  do  not  seem  to  utilise  their 
capabilities.  Look  a  little  closer,  however,  and 
a  flood  of  light  is  thrown  upon  the  matter.  Every- 
thing in  nature  has  its  purpose,  and  we  may  be 
quite  sure  that  the  force  and  energy  stored  up  in 
the  giants  of  the  forest  are  there  for  use.  And  that 
they  are  used  is  equally  evident  on  patient  investi- 
gation. Every  one  of  these  trees  is  a  living 
creature  straining  to  hold  its  own  in  the  battle 
for  life,  and  continually  struggling  with  its  fellows 
for  the  mastery.  Under  our  feet  are  interlacing 
roots  filling  up  every  inch  of  ground,  and  above 
our  heads  expanses  of  leaves  to  prevent  a  single 
ray  of  light  being  wasted.  These  represent  the 


154  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

labour  of  many  years — positions  gained  by  unre- 
mittent  effort.  Thousands  of  competitors  have 
been  overcome  in  the  struggle,  and  here  we  have 
the  strongest  and  fittest  surviving  to  continue  the 
strife.  For  it  does  not  follow  that  because  they 
have  attained  a  certain  position,  they  are,  there- 
fore, the  more  able  to  take  things  quietly.  They 
are  surrounded  by  neighbours,  every  one  of  which 
is  prepared  to  take  advantage  of  the  least  oppor- 
tunity. They  spread  their  branches  over  each 
other,  push  through  any  little  aperture  where 
light  has  been  allowed  to  penetrate,  doing  their 
level  best  to  smother  the  weak  ones.  Fortunately, 
however,  every  tree  is  continually  on  the  watch, 
and,  as  his  neighbour  raises  himself  a  little, 
he  expends  a  branch  upward  to  cope  with  the 
enemy.  Down  below  a  similar  struggle  is  going 
on.  In  the  same  way  that  the  branches  strive  to 
gain  a  little  more  sunlight  so  the  roots  strain  after 
food  and  water.  They  stretch  to  long  distances, 
here  climbing  over  or  under  the  great  feet  of  their 
rivals,  and  there  disputing  every  drop  and  morsel 
with  their  delicate  fibrous  mouths.  Above,  as  well 
as  below,  the  immediate  surroundings  are  occupied 
by  dense  assemblages  of  branches,  through  which 
it  is  impossible  to  penetrate,  but  in  both  places 
there  are  always  extensions  to  long  distances.  These 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  155 

wind  in  and  out  for  hundreds  of  feet,  always  look- 
ing out  for  the  necessaries  of  life  and  for  material 
with  which  to  carry  on  the  struggle. 

Every  living  thing,  whether  plant  or  animal,  has 
to  work  for  its  living.  The  Utopian  idea  that  it 
might  be  possible  for  man  to  live  without  work  is 
scouted  entirely  when  we  come  to  study  things  as 
they  are.  Not  only  is  it  necessary  to  labour,  but 
to  fight  as  well.  There  are  always  more  mouths 
than  bread  to  fill  them.  The  weakest  go  to  the 
wall  and  the  strongest  survive  everywhere.  If 
anything  happens  to  put  a  species  in  the  back- 
ground it  becomes  extinct  and  the  others  ride 
roughshod  over  it.  As  with  the  species  so  with 
the  individual  —  millions  are  born  only  to  die 
before  they  attain  maturity.  The  forest  giant 
works  for  many  years  before  he  attains  a  position 
to  produce  offspring  and  how  rarely  does  one  of 
his  progeny  succeed.  He  scatters  his  fruit  over  the 
ground  by  tens  of  thousands,  gives  them  manifold 
provisions  for  preserving  the  precious  germs  of 
life  and  for  securing  their  distribution,  and  then 
leaves  them  to  do  the  best  they  can.  If  they  try 
to  germinate  under  his  wing  they  are  ruthlessly 
smothered.  He  does  not  intend  that  they  shall  be 
his  rivals — they  must  look  for  a  vacancy,  and  if 
there  is  none  go  the  way  of  the  millions  of  others 


156  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

whose  parents  have  also  apparently  strained  every 
effort  and  spent  their  strength  for  naught. 

Poor  little  creatures,  how  pitiful  it  seems  that 
they  should  die  in  infancy  !  We  see  them  every- 
where in  the  forest.  Here  is  a  great  heap  of  seeds, 
every  one  with  its  white  cotyledons  pushing 
through  the  smooth  brown  coat,  which  has  been 
its  swaddling  cloth  for  a  few  weeks  or  months. 
Rain  has  fallen  and  caused  the  germs  to  swell,  and 
now  the  little  ones  are  beginning  to  look  around 
them  and  strain  for  the  light  as  their  fathers  have 
done.  But  what  is  the  use  ?  Here  they  are  in  this 
dark  cave,  and  not  a  single  ray  of  the  glorious  tropi- 
cal sun  can  reach  them.  The  cotyledons  push  out 
and  remain  colourless,  or  perhaps  a  leaf  or  two  may 
be  produced  on  a  long,  weak  stalk,  but  without  light 
they  can  do  nothing.  One  after  another  withers 
and  dies,  and  the  next  dry  season  finishes  off  the 
whole.  Perhaps  a  few  favoured  ones  may  have 
gone  a  little  farther.  The  place  where  they  were 
carried  by  some  running  stream  is  not  quite  so 
gloomy  as  the  recesses  of  the  forest.  A  hundred 
little  trees  have  gained  a  footing  and  are  now 
making  every  possible  effort  to  get  upwards.  Here 
they  are,  as  close  together  as  they  can  pack,  long 
slender  stems,  no  bigger  than  your  finger,  the  tall- 
est twenty  feet  high.  The  struggle  has  commenced 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  157 

and  the  vanquished  are  easily  distinguishable. 
Here  is  one  a  foot  high,  and  scattered  between 
the  victors,  others  of  different  sizes.  All  have 
lost  their  leaves,  and  although  some  might  still 
put  out  fresh  ones  if  they  had  an  opportunity,  it 
is  easily  seen  that  all  are  doomed.  They  have 
lost  their  place  already  and  are  out  of  the  run- 
ning. 

And,  what  of  the  victors  ?  They  look  vigorous 
— you  can  almost  see  them  growing.  Their  upper 
leaves  are  all  on  a  level  and  glow  with  the  most 
beautiful  tints.  There  are  no  branches — they  can- 
not afford  to  waste  time  and  energy  in  putting 
out  side  shoots  which  would  be  useless.  Their 
motto  is  "  Excelsior  " — higher  and  higher  still,  and 
woe  betide  the  hindermost.  There  is  room  and 
light  enough  for  perhaps  two  trees,  and  here 
are  a  hundred.  They  cannot  all  succeed.  Look 
closely  and  you  will  see  that  some  are  more 
sturdy  than  others  ;  they  are  not  quite  so  crowded 
and  their  roots  collect  more  nourishment.  These 
will  soon  be  ahead,  but  still  there  will  be  too 
many.  The  struggle  will  become  more  and  more 
intense  the  nearer  they  get  to  the  top,  and  when 
the  few  survivors  begin  to  throw  out  branches 
every  one  will  elbow  his  neighbour  until  only  the 
favoured  ones  remain.  As  for  the  others  they  will 


IS  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

be  represented  by  a  few  dry  sticks,  which  soon 
crumble  into  food  for  their  successful  rivals. 

Having  got  so  far  it  might  be  supposed  that  the 
victors  would  rest  upon  their  laurels.  But  no,  they 
have  only  attained  to  manhood  and  must  now  fight 
with  their  equals.  The  elbowing  is  carried  on  above 
just  as  it  was  on  a  lower  level — every  effort  is 
strained  to  prevent  a  new-comer  getting  his  share 
of  the  sunlight.  While  the  struggle  was  going 
on  below  the  trees  have  been  stretching  their  limbs 
over  the  little  opening  and  only  a  slit  may  remain 
through  which  the  sturdy  youth  has  pushed  his 
way.  He  naturally  extends  himself  and  tries  to 
rise  above  the  others,  but  they,  in  their  turn,  push 
through  his  branches  until  all  are  interlocked  one 
with  another.  So  great  is  the  confusion  on  this 
account  that  it  is  impossible  to  discern  from  under- 
neath what  leaves  belong  to  a  particular  trunk. 

If  this  were  all  that  the  forest  giant  had  to  con- 
tend with  it  might  be  considered  as  a  fair  game,  but, 
unfortunately,  the  tree  has  other  enemies.  Nowhere 
in  the  world  are  there  such  enormous  climbing  and 
scrambling  plants  as  in  the  South  American  forest, 
and  all  these  are  more  or  less  dangerous.  Like  the 
trees  they  aim  to  get  upward  to  procure  enough 
light  for  their  gorgeous  blossoms,  but,  having  such 
limp  stems,  can  only  do  so  by  means  of  their  vie- 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  159 

tims.  Some  twine  round  the  trees  like  monster 
pythons,  others  produce  aerial  roots  which  cling 
to  the  bark  ;  some  push  themselves  through  the 
branches  and  twigs,  and  then  spread  out  their 
arms  as  it  were  to  prevent  falling  back,  while  one 
at  least  walks  up  the  trunks  like  a  cat  by  dig- 
ging its  claws  into  them.  As  their  seeds  germinate 
in  the  forest  they  are  poor,  weakly,  little  things, 
seeming  altogether  helpless,  only  looking  for  some 
friendly  trunk  to  help  them  in  their  progress  up- 
wards. The  tree  is  unfortunately  wanting  in  the 
ability  to  refuse  this  help  and  consequently  the 
twining  malefactor  obtains  a  footing.  It  grows 
very  quickly,  its  soft  body  accommodating  itself 
to  the  shape  of  its  host,  and  coiling  round  and 
round  until  it  reaches  the  top.  Here  its  point 
is  pushed  through  the  smallest  crevice  and  the 
monster  opens  its  leaves  to  the  sunlight.  What 
a  striking  change  !  Branches  are  thrown  out  in 
every  direction,  the  coil  thickens  and  compresses 
the  tree-trunk,  and  very  soon  the  poor  forest  giant 
begins  to  suffer.  Being  an  exogen  it  cannot  bear 
compression  —  its  leaves  begin  to  fall,  and  this 
makes  all  the  more  room  for  the  great  mat  which 
is  being  spread  all  over  its  head.  By  and  by,  as 
the  vegetable  python  constricts  its  host  more  and 
more,  the  tree  dies  ;  then  the  victor  covers  it  with 


I6o  IN  THE  GUIANA  FORES1. 

a  flowery  pall,  spreads  over  a  dozen  other  trees,  and 
glories  in  its  triumph.  Later,  when  atmospheric 
agencies  and  termites  have  done  their  work,  we  see 
the  empty  coil  of  the  monster  hanging  in  mid-air 
and  helping  with  others  to  produce  the  effect  of 
great  cables  hanging  from  tall  masts. 

Other  bush-ropes  (as  they  are  called  in  Guiana) 
do  not  constrict,  but  simply  smother  their  hosts. 
As  they  reach  the  sunlight  they,  by  growing  faster 
than  the  tree,  quickly  spread  over  the  neighbour- 
hood until  the  light  is  entirely  shut  out  from  below. 
Of  course  the  tree  does  its  best,  pushes  a  twig  here 
and  there  through  the  mat  of  its  enemy,  but  rarely 
if  ever  conquers  him.  For  ages  the  climber  has 
been  at  work  and  learnt  how  to  fight  for  its 
position,  until  now  the  tree  is  almost  entirely 
at  its  mercy. 

However,  even  this  powerful  monster  is  afflicted 
with  some  disabilities.  Like  other  plants  its  seeds 
must  have  a  certain  amount  of  light  before  they 
can  even  begin  to  grow,  and  if  the  canopy  above  is 
quite  unbroken  its  efforts  to  rise  are  fruitless. 
But  there  is  a  class  of  plants  which  has  got 
over  this  difficulty  by  commencing  at  the  top. 
Woe  betide  the  forest  giant  when  he  falls  into 
the  clutches  of  the  wild  fig.  Its  seed  being 
provided  with  a  pulp,  which  is  very  pleasant  to 


WILD    FIG,    AFTER    DESTROYING    ITS    HOST. 


To  face  p.  161 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  161 

the  taste  of  a  great  number  of  birds,  is  carried 
from  tree  to  tree  and  deposited  on  the  branches. 
Here  it  germinates,  the  leafy  stem  rising  upward 
and  the  roots  flowing  as  it  were  down  the  trunk 
until  they  reach  the  soil.  At  first  these  aerial  roots 
are  soft  and  delicate,  with  apparently  no  more 
power  for  evil  than  so  many  small  streams  of 
pitch,  which  they  resemble  in  their  slowly  flowing 
motion  downward.  Here  and  there  they  branch, 
especially  if  an  obstruction  is  met  with,  when  the 
stream  either  changes  its  course  or  divides  to  right 
and  left.  Meanwhile,  leafy  branches  have  been 
developed,  which  push  themselves  through  the 
canopy  above  and  get  into  the  light,  where  their 
growth  is  enormously  accelerated.  As  this  takes 
place  the  roots  have  generally  reached  the  ground 
and  begun  to  draw  sustenance  from  below  to 
strengthen  the  whole  plant.  Then  comes  a 
wonderful  development.  The  hitherto  soft  aerial 
roots  begin  to  harden  and  spread  wider  and  wider, 
throwing  out  side  branches  which  flow  into  and 
amalgamate  with  each  other  until  the  whole  tree- 
trunk  is  bound  with  a  series  of  irregular  living 
hoops. 

The  strangler  is  now  ready  for  its  deadly  work. 
The  forest  giant,  like  all  exogens,  must  have  room 
to  increase  in  girth,  and  here  he  is  bound  by  cords 

ii 


162  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

which  are  stronger  than  iron  bands.  Like  an  athlete 
he  tries  to  expand  and  burst  his  fetters,  and  if  they 
were  rigid  he  might  succeed.  But  the  strangler  is 
like  a  python,  and  almost  seems  as  if  provided  with 
muscles.  The  bark  between  every  interlacing 
bulges  out  and  even  tries  to  overlap,  but  the 
monster  has  taken  every  precaution  against  this  by 
making  its  bands  very  numerous  and  wide.  We 
can  almost  see  the  struggle,  and,  knowing  what 
will  be  the  result,  must  pity  the  victim. 

As  the  tree  becomes  weaker  its  leaves  begin  to 
fall,  and  this  gives  more  room  for  its  foe.  Soon 
the  strangler  expands  itself  into  a  great  bush, 
almost  as  large  as  the  mass  of  branches  and  foliage 
it  has  effaced.  Its  glossy  leaves  shine  in  the  sun- 
light, and  it  seems  to  glory  in  its  work.  Every 
branch  is  clean  and  sleek,  not  a  lichen  or  fungus 
can  find  shelter  anywhere.  It  has  got  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  forest  giant,  but  does  not  intend 
to  support  in  its  turn  even  the  tiniest  dwarf.  If  we 
could  forget  its  murderous  work,  how  we  should 
admire  it !  Take  the  Clusia  insignis>  for  example. 
Here  we  have  one  of  the  most  beautiful  shrubs  in  the 
world.  Its  thick  leathery  leaves  shine  as  if  polished, 
and  its  green  sleek  branches  always  look  clean  and 
healthy.  As  it  sits  crowing,  as  it  were,  over  its 
victim,  the  contrast  between  them  is  most  striking. 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  163 

Perhaps  the  forest  giant  is  dying — the  few  leaves 
remaining  are  yellow  and  sickly.  No  flowers 
have  been  produced  for  two  or  three  seasons,  and 
even  the  branches  look  shrivelled.  There  is  not 
the  least  hope  of  recovery :  it  only  remains,  there- 
fore, to  submit  to  the  inevitable,  to  die  and  give 
place  to  the  strangles 

How  pitiful  these  victims  appear!  Sometimes 
in  passing  along  a  creek  they  are  to  be  seen  here 
and  there  in  all  stages.  Now  and  again  the  clusia 
or  fig  has  been  content  with  the  destruction  of  one 
branch,  and  instead  of  fastening  a  network  of  fetters 
round  the  trunk,  runs  down  one  side.  In  such  cases 
only  half  the  tree  dies,  and  the  remainder  looks  as 
if  in  the  loving  embrace  of  a  friend.  Those  which 
have  been  more  unfortunate  are  yet  standing. 
Here  is  one  with  a  dark  mass  hidden  in  its  canopy 
of  foliage.  As  yet  the  murderous  work  is  only 
beginning,  and  no  serious  mischief  has  been  done. 
Further  along,  however,  is  another,  which  is  ob- 
viously suffering.  Its  leaves  are  so  few,  that  the 
green  mass  of  the  strangler  dominates  and  helps  to 
cover  its  almost  naked  limbs.  Now  we  come  upon 
another  quite  dead.  Where  it  is  not  enclosed  in 
the  living  fetters,  the  bark  hangs  down  in  great 
flakes,  while  branches  depend  from  the  festoons  of 
bush-ropes  which  help  to  hide  the  unsightly  object 


164  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Termites  are  already  at  work,  as  may  be  seen  from . 
their  great  black  nests  which  occupy  every  fork, 
and  beetles  are  found  everywhere  above  and  below. 
Woodpeckers  hunt  for  larvae,  making  great  holes  in 
the  rotten  timber,  and  parrots  build  their  nests  in 
these  excavations.  Water  trickles  down  into  them 
and  helps  on  the  work  of  destruction,  which,  al- 
though it  may  take  a  few  years  to  complete,  is 
nevertheless  done  more  quickly  than  might  be  sup- 
posed. A  mora  pillar  may  last  from  fifty  to  a  hun- 
dred years  in  a  building,  but  hardly  a  tenth  as  long  in 
the  forest.  If  we  look  carefully  around  us,  we  see 
examples  of  entire  obliteration,  a  clusia  or  fig 
standing  on  its  reticulated  hollow  pillar  with  only 
a  heap  of  brown  humus  at  its  base  to  show  what 
has  become  of  the  trunk  which  once  stood  up  in  all 
its  majesty  on  that  spot. 

As  if  the  trees  had  not  enough  to  contend  with 
from  elbowing,  smothering,  and  strangling,  another 
enemy,  the  blood-sucker,  has  arisen  to  disturb  their 
peace.  Species  of  Loranthaceae — the  mistletoe 
family — are  very  common  in  the  forest  Unlike 
the  pretty  Christmas  bush,  however,  these  are 
monsters  of  a  most  pronounced  type,  often  forming 
bushes  twenty  feet  through.  Like  the  stranglers 
they  are  propagated  by  birds,  which  eat  the  glu- 
tinous pulp  of  their  berries  and  clear  away  the 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  165 

seeds  by  rubbing  them  on  the  branches  of  trees,  to 
which  they  adhere.  Myriads  of  these  seeds  ger- 
minate in  every  direction,  on  leaves  and  even 
rotten  wood,  but  if  they  do  not  happen  to  find  a 
congenial  spot  on  some  living  branch  or  twig,  they 
perish  very  quickly.  Instead  of  a  radicle  the  germ 
produces  a  sucking  disk,  which  immediately  adheres 
to  its  living  support  and  begins  draining  the  sap  to 
support,  first  its  cotyledons,  and  then  its  long  whip- 
like  stems.  As  the  parasite  gets  strong,  its  long 
extensions  spread  from  branch  to  branch,  and  from 
twig  to  twig,  everywhere  extending  octopus-like 
arms  provided  with  sucking  disks,  which  adhere 
to  and  bleed  the  tree  in  a  hundred  different  places. 
Branch  after  branch  is  dried  up,  but  as  the  loranth 
has  many  strings  to  his  bow,  this  does  not  hurt 
him  much.  There  are  always  more  to  conquer, 
and  unless  the  tree  stands  alone,  which  is  of  course 
impossible  in  the  forest,  he  rarely  comes  to  grief. 
It  is  not  to  his  advantage  that  the  tree  should  die 
quickly,  and  therefore  the  longer  it  can  support 
him  the  better.  However,  even  the  most  sturdy 
giant  of  the  forest  suffers  greatly  from  such  con- 
tinual depletion,  and  may  be  so  weakened  as  to  lag 
behind  in  the  race  for  life,  with  the  ultimate  result 
that  it  is  smothered  by  its  fellows. 

Surrounded  by  so  many  rivals  of  its  own  classi 


166  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

it  naturally  follows  that  the  forest  giant  puts  on 
defensive  armour.  Perhaps  the  best  examples  of 
this  are  found  in  the  palms.  As  endogens  they 
have  certain  advantages  which  are  denied  to  mem- 
bers of  the  other  great  division  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom.  Having  no  branches  they  rise  straight 
upwards  without  difficulty,  and  their  pointed  leaf- 
buds  pierce  through  the  thickest  canopy.  Then, 
every  exposed  part  of  the  crown  is  particularly 
stiff  and  hard,  so  that  it  has  hardly  a  weak  point. 
Not  content  with  this,  many  species  have  put  on 
spiked  armour,  which  effectually  prevents  any  weak 
seedling  from  growing  in  their  neighbourhood,  and 
tears  them  to  pieces  if  already  there.  Such  an 
array  of  needles  as  is  borne  by  some  of  the  species 
of  Bactris,  is  simply  appalling.  Stem,  midrib  of 
leaf,  and  even  the  leaves  themselves,  are  so  beset 
with  them,  that  not  even  man  can  penetrate  such 
thickets  as  they  form.  Not  content  with  a  single 
stem,  like  most  other  palms,  they  throw  up  one 
circle  beyond  another,  cover  a  considerable  area, 
and  conquer  everything  that  stands  in  the  way. 

Palms  are  also  well  protected  against  stranglers 
and  blood-suckers.  A  fig  will  make  use  of  the  tall 
column  and  throw  its  aerial  roots  down  it  to  the 
earth,  but  rarely  does  it  gain  anything  like  a  posi- 
tion. The  crown  of  the  palm  overshadows  its 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  167 

leaves,  and  however  it  may  constrict  the  hard  stem, 
not  the  slightest  injury  results.  The  magnificent 
Oreodoxa  oleracea — the  palmiste  of  the  West 
Indies— is  often  covered  with  a  network  of  the 
creeping  fig  (Ficus  stipulate?),  which  gives  to  what 
otherwise  would  have  been  a  bare  column,  a  most 
pleasing  decoration.  This,  however,  can  only  be 
produced  when  the  palm  stands  apart  from  other 
trees,  as  in  the  forest  sufficient  light  cannot  be 
obtained.  Possibly  the  high  position  in  the  vege- 
table kingdom  which  has  been  obtained  by  palms 
is  partly  due  to  their  perfect  immunity  from  the 
attacks  of  stranglers  and  blood-suckers,  as  well  as 
to  their  greater  ability  to  hold  their  own  in  the 
great  struggle  for  life.  As  for  loranths  they  can 
never  succeed  in  getting  a  foot-hold  on  the  hard 
palm  fronds,  and  if  it  were  not  for  insect  enemies 
these  "  princes  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  "  would 
be  perfectly  safe. 

We  have  already  hinted  that  the  dense  shade  of 
the  forest  is  a  protection  against  undue  rivalry. 
Only  light  is  wanted  to  make  the  space  between 
the  tree-trunks  an  impenetrable  jungle.  In  tem- 
perate climates  most  trees  are  bare  for  half  the 
year,  but  fortunately  for  them  this  happens  when 
nature  is  sleeping.  Here  in  the  tropics  there  is  no 
rest  Day  after  day,  and  to  a  certain  extent  even 


168  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST, 

at  night,  throughout  the  whole  year,  the  trees  are 
continually  at  work.  They  drop  their  leaves, 
generally  twice  in  the  twelve  months,  although  a 
few  only  do  this  once.  When  the  change  takes 
place  it  has  to  be  got  over  hurriedly.  It  would 
never  do  to  have  the  branches  and  twigs  bare  for 
even  a  few  weeks  with  so  many  rivals  prepared  to 
take  advantage  of  such  an  opening.  If  there  were 
an  uniform  resting  period  the  disability  might  be 
less,  but  as  it  is  every  individual  differs  more  or 
less  from  others,  even  of  the  same  species,  and 
chooses  its  own  time.  From  January  to  March, 
and  again  six  months  later,  fruits  ripen,  the  leaves 
fall  off  one  by  one,  and  almost  immediately — 
perhaps  in  a  few  hours — the  tree  is  again  clothed 
with  a  vesture  far  more  beautiful  than  that  which 
it  has  just  cast  off.  If  this  change  were  at  all  uni- 
form, the  forest  would  at  this  time  present  a  most 
gorgeous  appearance,  to  which  the  autumn  colouring 
of  North  American  forests  bears  no  comparison. 
Even  a  single  tree  is  "  a  thing  of  beauty,"  but  like 
that  quality  in  many  other  things  soon  gives  place 
to  mere  uniformity.  As  the  buds  expand,  the 
flaccid  leaves  are  seen  tinted  in  most  inimitable 
shades.  On  backgrounds  of  pale  green  are  painted 
with  the  delicate  hand  of  nature  rich  crimsons, 
browns,  olives,  yellows,  and  whites,  which  glow  in 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  169 

the  sunlight  and  tinge  the  rays  which  for  a  few 
hours  are  enabled  to  penetrate  the  otherwise  dense 
canopy. 

In  that  portion  of  the  forest  which  covers  the 
lower  grounds  near  the  coast,  the  struggle  is  most 
intense,  on  account  of  the  richness  of  the  soil  and 
the  plenitude  of  water.  On  the  sand-reefs,  rocks, 
and  mountains,  however,  plant-food  is  more  difficult 
to  obtain,  and  here  the  strain  for  bare  existence  is 
so  great  that  a  longer  rest  seems  necessary.  Instead, 
therefore,  of  performing  two  tasks  a  year,  the  trees 
generally  have  but  one  flowering  and  one  fruiting 
season.  Again,  as  little  rain  falls  for  the  three 
months  from  September  to  November,  that  time  is 
chosen  for  a  partial  rest.  This,  however,  is  not  like 
the  hibernation  of  plants  in  temperate  climates, 
but  simply  a  less  active  condition  where  the  strain 
is  slightly  relaxed.  The  leaves  fall  one  after  an- 
other, but  almost  before  you  can  appreciate  the 
fact  that  the  tree  is  bare,  new  buds  open  all  at  once 
and  work  is  resumed. 

That  they  should  require  a  little  rest  at  night  is 
only  to  be  expected.  Even  in  other  climes  the 
sleep  of  plants  has  been  noticed,  but  nowhere  is  it 
so  strikingly  exemplified  as  in  the  tropical  forest. 
Diurnal  flowers  droop,  leaves  fold  together  or  hang 
as  if  exhausted,  and  even  twigs  lose  some  of  their 


i;o  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

stiffness.  All,  however,  do  not  choose  their  hours 
of  relaxation  at  the  same  time,  but  as  in  the  case 
of  animals,  there  are  some  which  work  at  night, 
when  they  bring  to  perfection  that  intricate  process, 
the  fertilisation  of  their  flowers.  The  night  workers 
close  their  corollas  against  the  bright  sunlight,  and 
only  open  them  to  commence  the  work  of  distilling 
perfumes  after  nightfall.  Then  the  whole  forest 
is  noisy  with  the  din  of  myriads  of  insects,  and 
perfumes  are  wafted  in  every  direction,  floating 
downward  from  the  tree- tops,  and  rising  from  the 
host  of  water-lilies  which  cover  the  open  parts 
of  the  creeks. 

At  such  times  (the  flowering  seasons)  every  plant 
must  be  particularly  active,  as  its  leaves  work 
during  the  day  and  its  flowers  at  night.  The  most 
strenuous  efforts  seem  to  be  put  forth  to  attract 
nocturnal  insects,  with  most  wonderful  results,  and 
when  it  is  considered  that  during  all  this  time  the 
tree  continues  to  wage  war  against  its  neighbours 
so  as  to  hold  its  own,  the  amount  of  labour  is  seen 
to  be  something  enormous.  For  years  it  has  been 
gathering  strength  and  struggling  for  room  to 
develop  its  flowers,  and  now  the  critical  period  has 
arrived. 


IX. 
ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS. 

IF  the  struggle  for  life  is  so  intense  inside  the 
forest,  how  much  greater  is  it  along  the  banks  of 
the  rivers  and  creeks.  As  we  have  before  stated, 
the  narrower  streams  meander  through  dark  arcades, 
and  only  when  they  are  over  fifty  feet  broad  do  we 
get  anything  like  a  break  in  the  continuity.  Even 
then  it  is  only  here  and  there,  where  a  tree  has 
been  undermined  by  the  flood,  that  anything  like  a 
patch  of  sunlight  comes  down  to  the  level  of  the 
water. 

In  passing  along  the  banks  of  the  great  rivers  of 
Guiana,  we  come  upon  openings,  from  which  flow 
swift  streams  of  coffee-coloured  water.  To  the 
casual  observer  they  are  little  bays  hollowed 
out  of  the  bank,  and  backed  by  masses  of  vege- 
tation which  effectually  hide  everything  beyond. 
These  are  the  mouths  of  tributary  streams,  called 

creeks,  which  drain    the   forest,  feed   the   rivers, 

171 


172  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

and  through  them  tinge  the  ocean  for  over  fifty 
miles  from  the  shore.  If  we  paddle  our  bateau 
into  the  entrance,  it  is  soon  found  that  the  appear- 
ance of  a  cul-de-sac  is  caused  by  an  abrupt  turning, 
on  rounding  which  the  river  is  shut  from  view,  and 
a  real  fairyland  disclosed. 

Painter  and  poet  have  depicted  the  brooks  and 
small  rivers  of  temperate  climates,  but  all  their 
glorification  of  nature  seems  tame  when  applied  to 
a  creek.  Even  the  ordinary  observer  becomes 
enthusiastic,  while  the  naturalist  experiences  a 
feeling  of  ecstacy  that  is  simply  indescribable. 
The  fatigue  of  a  long  boat  journey  on  the  open 
river,  where  the  fierce  rays  of  the  tropical  sun 
poured  down  incessantly  and  blistered  his  face, 
neck,  and  hands,  is  all  forgotten,  and  he  can  do 
nothing  but  sit  up  and  feast  on  the  beautiful. 
Every  bend  brings  up  a  new  scene.  Here  is  a 
great  mora  towering  to  a  height  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet,  from  which  hang  festoons  of  creepers 
decorated  with  large  flowers  of  most  gorgeous 
colours  Below  and  in  the  foreground  are  a  thicket 
of  tree  ferns,  great  clumps  of  marantas  and  heli- 
conias — a  hundred  species  of  shrubs  and  low  trees. 
A  little  farther  we  come  upon  reaches  where  the 
most  striking  objects  are  palms  ;  here  a  troolie 
with  almost  undivided  leaves  twelve  feet  long, 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  173 

farther  on  a  clump  of  the  graceful  manicole,  and  in 
another  place  perhaps  the  stately  fan-leaved  eta. 
Now  the  creek  is  almost  closed  by  a  lattice  of  bush- 
ropes,  and  then  we  have  to  pass  under  a  leaning 
trunk  or  branch  almost  touching  the  water.  Hun- 
dreds of  cord-like  aerial  roots  depend  from  the 
topmost  branches  of  the  trees,  and  have  to  be 
moved  aside  as  we  get  amongst  them,  while  great 
bunches  of  flowers  depend  from  the  creepers,  which 
also  obstruct  the  way  in  some  places. 

If  the  creek  has  not  been  kept  open  by  Indians, 
it  is  often  choked  with  vegetation.  A  dense  wall 
of  creepers  forms  a  curtain,  and  we  can  only  push 
through  by  aid  of  our  cutlasses,  which  are  always 
carried  for  this  purpose  in  bush  travelling.  Under 
water  are  the  remains  of  trees  which  have  fallen 
during  several  centuries.  When  the  water  is  low 
we  see  them  lying  in  inextricable  confusion  on  the 
bottom,  and  every  now  and  then  our  bateau  grazes 
one  that  stands  higher  than  the  rest,  or  perhaps 
lodges  upon  it  until  pushed  off.  Here  a  great  tree 
has  fallen  and  blocked  the  way  altogether,  and  we 
must  use  the  axe  if  we  desire  to  proceed  farther. 
With  a  light  canoe  we  may  perhaps  get  out  on  the 
trunk  and  haul  the  frail  craft  over,  or,  if  this  can 
be  done,  clear  away  the  branches  sufficiently  for  a 
passage.  Now  and  again  it  is  possible  to  push 


174  M  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  craft  under,    while    we  scramble    over    the 
trunk. 

These  fallen  trees  give  opportunities  to  seedlings 
not  to  be  had  in  the  forest  proper.  Floods  have 
loosened  their  roots,  and  they  come  down  some 
day  with  a  crash,  allowing  the  sunlight  to  penetrate 
where  there  are  myriads  of  seeds  only  waiting  its 
advent  to  enter  the  field  of  battle.  With  our 
knowledge  of  the  intense  struggle  always  going 
on  in  the  forest,  we  can  hardly  conceive  how  a 
seedling  can  make  headway  at  all  on  the  banks 
of  the  creeks,  where  the  strife  is  so  much  greater. 
Its  rivals  are  so  many,  and  their  tactics  so  different, 
that  success  would  almost  seem  impossible.  If  we 
look  at  the  lower  vegetation,  we  find  that  a  great 
many  species  have  acquired  the  power  of  increasing 
by  suckers,  which  faculty  is  wanting  in  the  forest 
trees.  Marantas,  heliconias,  palms,  and  arums, 
spread  over  large  surfaces  by  this  means  ;  every 
new  sucker  is  protected  by  the  parent  clump,  and 
pushes  its  rivals  farther  and  farther  as  it  increases 
in  size.  Here  also  are  dense  shrubs  with  very 
stiff  branches,  in  many  cases  armed  with  spines. 
Between  these  and  the  tender-leaved  marantas 
there  is  a  continual  struggle.  The  latter  try  their 
best  to  cover  everything  with  their  glorious  crowns, 
but  the  thorns  and  stiff  twigs  continually  tear 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  175 

their  great  leaves  into  ribbons,  and  refuse  to  be 
smothered.  Some  have  spines  only  in  their  early 
stages,  and  lose  them  as  they  become  older,  when 
their  positions  are  better  assured.  Even  the  tree- 
ferns  are  armed  in  such  a  manner,  that  they  all 
deserve  the  name  ferox,  which  has  been  given  to 
a  species  of  Alsophila. 

Creepers  that  twine  are  necessarily  repelled  by 
thorns,  and  probably  for  that  reason  are  compara- 
tively rare.  Most  of  the  smothering  host  which 
comes  to  the  front  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  are 
scramblers.  They,  as  it  were,  crawl  over  every- 
thing, holding  on  by  contrivances  which  are  par- 
ticularly ingenious.  Some  push  their  small  shoots 
through  the  dense  bushes,  and  then,  as  a  boy  in 
climbing  a  tree,  puts  his  arms  over  the  branches,  they 
spread  out  stiff  hooks  with  the  points  downwards  to 
prevent  their  slipping  back.  Others,  like  Bignonia 
unguis,  can  take  hold  between  the  spines  and 
keep  their  leaves  at  a  safe  distance.  Once  these 
scramblers  get  a  footing  there  is  hardly  a  limit  to 
their  extension.  Long  whip-like  branches  spread 
in  every  direction,  appearing  as  if  continually  on 
the  look-out  for  a  resting-place.  They  pass  over 
thorny  bushes  and  other  uncongenial  spots,  and 
only  when  a  tree  suits  them  do  they  hasten  to 
cover  it  with  their  flowery  pall. 


i?6  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Here  and  there  a  little  bay  at  the  turning  of  the 
creek  is  flooded  with  sunlight,  and  this  makes  the 
struggle  all  the  more  intense.  If  the  current  is  not 
very  strong  a  bed  of  Cabomba  aquatica,  with  its 
pretty  shields,  will  occupy  the  space,  and  beyond  it 
a  clump  of  white  lilies  (Pancratium).  Then  comes 
the  really  impenetrable  jungle,  which  is  so  dense, 
that  not  a  single  ray  of  sunlight  reaches  the  ground. 
But  there  are  few  open  places  in  the  narrower 
creeks.  For  long  distances  the  trees  meet  over- 
head, and  make  everything  beneath  almost  as  dark 
as  in  the  forest.  If,  however,  the  smallest  ray  of 
light  can  penetrate,  we  see  a  struggle  going  on 
below  for  its  possession.  Again,  for  miles  the 
stream  flows  through  a  living  tunnel,  and  here 
nothing  whatever  can  grow ;  the  tangle  of  branches 
above  our  heads  is  free  from  epiphytes,  and  even 
leaves. 

We  have  not  mentioned  the  epiphytes,  as  they 
are  important  enough  to  deserve  a  special  chapter. 
We  may,  however,  remark  that  it  is  in  the  creeks 
where  the  lovely  orchids  sit  on  branches  above 
our  heads,  and,  together  with  ferns,  peperomias, 
cacti,  bromeliaceae,  and  aroids,  decorate  every 
branch  and  twig.  As  if  looking  down  from  above 
on  the  intense  struggle,  these  seem  like  spectators 
watching  the  fight,  but  having  no  interest  in  it.  If 


A 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.          177 

they  fell  among  the  crowd  they  would  be  quickly 
suffocated,  but  as  their  aerial  roots  cling  tightly 
there  is  little  risk  of  such  a  catastrophe. 

We  come  now  to  the  great  rivers  ;  their  banks  are 
too  uniform  to  be  picturesque.  The  forest  trees 
come  as  near  to  the  banks  as  they  dare,  and  then 
stop,  allowing  a  crowd  of  prickly  shrubs  to  extend 
themselves  into  the  ooze.  Looked  at  from  the 
river,  the  green  expanse  seems  to  rise  from  a 
verdant  bank,  as  if  the  shore  were  far  above  the 
water,  instead  of  being  nearly  on  the  same  level. 
The  tall  trees  cannot  hold  their  own  in  the  mud, 
therefore  they  give  place  to  a  different  type,  which 
has  little  or  no  trunk,  and  sits  down  as  it  were  to 
anchor  itself  by  means  of  special  contrivances. 
Several  species  of  Leguminosae,  including  Drepano- 
carpus  lunatus,  Muellera  moniliformis,  and  Hecas- 
tophyllum  Brownii,  form  dense  thickets,  and  extend 
as  far  from  the  bank  as  they  dare.  In  front  of 
these  is  an  advance  guard  of  mocca-mocca  (Mon- 
trichardia  arborescens\  which  is  as  it  were  drawn 
up  in  rank  to  keep  back  the  flood.  Growing  in  the 
water,  this  monster  arum  developes  great  club-like 
stems,  which  come  up  as  close  to  each  other  as 
they  can  pack,  and  rise  like  rows  of  palisades  to 
the  height  of  twelve  feet  or  more  above  the  surface. 
As  if  this  were  not  a  sufficient  encroachment  on 

13 


178  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  open  space,  the  floating-island  grass  (Panicum 
elephantipes]  anchors  itself  to  the  mocca-mocca  or 
bushes,  and  extends  just  as  far  across  as  the  rapid 
current  will  allow.  In  dry  weather,  when  the 
water  is  low,  and  the  stream  has  little  power,  the 
extensions  from  either  side  meet  in  the  centre,  and 
close  the  passage-way  for  a  time,  only,  however,  to 
be  torn  away  in  great  masses  as  the  floods  come. 
At  such  times  great  patches,  fifty  feet  or  more  in 
diameter,  are  seen  floating  down -stream,  some- 
times carrying  with  them  monster  camoudies  (Boa 
murina),  or  other  snakes.  As  these  masses  are 
caught  by  the  sea-waves,  they  are  thrown  back 
upon  the  beach,  where  they  lie  in  great  heaps 
until,  dying,  they  go  to  help  make  up  that  exten- 
sion of  the  coast-line  which  is  continually  driving 
back  the  waves  to  a  greater  distance.  Sometimes 
a  great  tree,  whose  timber  is  light  enough  to  float, 
gets  entangled  in  the  grass,  and  becomes  the 
nucleus  of  an  immense  raft,  which  is  continually 
increasing  in  size  as  it  gathers  up  everything  that 
comes  floating  down  the  river.  The  grass  extends 
over  the  whole,  and  mats  it  together  until  a 
formidable  obstacle  is  produced,  but  notwithstand- 
ing all  its  efforts  the  dam  is  imperfect.  When 
eight  or  ten  inches  of  rain  fall  in  a  day,  and  the 
river  rises  sixteen  to  twenty  feet,  the  barrier  must 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  179 

go.  However  it  may  be  attached  to  the  bottom 
by  a  thousand  anchors,  it  has  to  give  way  when 
the  rise  takes  place,  and  here  the  hollow  stems  of 
the  grass  help  in  its  own  destruction.  By  their 
numbers  they  act  as  buoys,  drag  the  great  tangle 
of  trees  and  bushes  to  the  surface,  unloose  their  own 
anchorage  until  the  mass  sails  away,  ever  on  and 
on,  to  be  broken  in  pieces  and  dashed  on  the  shore, 
or  perhaps  carried  far  out  to  sea. 

Thousands  of  floating  trees  and  patches  of  grass 
are  carried  down  by  every  flood,  and  are  not  un- 
commonly found  out  of  sight  of  land.  Sometimes 
a  great  tree  resembles  a  wreck,  and  ships  have  been 
known  to  steer  out  of  their  courses  and  send  boats 
to  see  if  anything  living  could  be  found  in  the  tangle 
of  presumed  spars  and  rigging.  As  may  be  sup- 
posed, such  a  mass  as  we  have  described  often 
plays  sad  havoc  with  the  river  banks  along  its 
course.  Now  it  is  driven  against  the  shore  on  one 
side,  and  carries  away  a  clump  of  mocca-moccas, 
and  farther  on  sweeps  a  little  thicket  before  it ; 
now  a  part  of  the  mass  gets  entangled  in  the  props 
of  a  mangrove,  and  for  a  short  time  the  whole  is 
brought  to  a  stand-still.  Something  is  bound  to 
give  way — either  the  mangrove  is  dragged  from  its 
anchorage  in  the  mud,  or  the  floating  island  must 
part  with  some  of  its  constituents.  The  flood  is 


I8o  IN  THE  GUI  AN  A  FOREST. 

inexorable  ;  like  the  policeman,  it  tells  the  monster 
obstructionist  to  move  on,  and  there  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  disobedience. 

However,  it  sometimes  happens  that  an  obstruc- 
tion of  a  particularly  obstinate  nature  succeeds  in 
withstanding  the  flood.  Perhaps  it  has  existed 
long  enough  to  allow  the  climbers  on  the  over- 
hanging bushes  to  lay  hold,  and  the  mocca-moccas 
to  grow  up  and  penetrate  it  like  stakes.  It  was 
stranded  in  a  shallow,  and  has  been  the  cause  of 
further  deposits  on  and  around  it.  By  and  by 
down  comes  the  flood,  bringing  with  it  great 
masses  of  similar  material,  most  of  which  is 
deposited  on  the  fast -forming  bank,  until  it 
becomes  an  impregnable  barricade,  narrowing  the 
channel  to  a  considerable  extent.  The  waters 
become  higher,  and  the  current  swifter.  Some- 
thing has  to  go,  but  it  is  not  this  late  erection. 
The  opposite  bank  is  undermined,  one  bush  after 
another  goes  down  with  the  flood,  trees  fall  over 
and  are  also  carried  away,  and  a  few  months  later 
the  great  river  has  a  new  bend.  This  sort  of  thing 
is  continually  going  on  ;  now  the  stream  over- 
comes the  plants,  and  anon  they  are  borne  away  to 
the  ocean,  the  general  result  being,  however,  that 
everywhere  except  where  the  bed  is  rocky  the 
channel  is  quite  unstable. 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  181 

It  happens  sometimes  also,  though  rarely,  that 
the  obstruction  takes  place  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream.  A  very  large  tree  is  carried  along  and 
deposited  in  a  comparatively  shallow  place,  where 
it  settles  down  and  becomes  the  nucleus  for  a 
deposit  of  debris  and  silt.  Then  the  floating  grass 
anchors  itself  to  some  of  the  projecting  branches, 
and  spreads  all  over  until  a  little  island  is  formed 
Layer  upon  layer  of  mud  is  arrested  at  the  upper 
end  until  there  is  only  a  foot  or  two  of  water,  and 
on  this  bank  some  of  the  mocca-mocca  roots,  that 
are  continually  coming  down,  get  stranded  and 
commence  to  grow.  A  year  or  two  after  a  dense 
living  palisade  protects  the  small  island,  prevents 
the  silt  from  washing  away,  and  helps  to  increase 
the  deposit  by  keeping  a  little  still  water  behind. 
Seeds  come  floating  down  in  myriads,  germinate 
in  the  tangle,  grow  into  great  shrubs,  and  con- 
tinually gather  more  mud  and  dtbris  until  the 
little  island  lengthens  down-stream  to  a  consider- 
able distance.  The  semicircle  of  gigantic  arums 
is  sufficiently  elastic  to  bend  before  the  weight  of 
water  ;  the  plants  may  be  torn  up  by  the  roots,  but 
never  broken  off  A  thousand  little  eddies  make 
them  tremble,  and  move  backward  and  forward  as 
if  alive,  but  still  they  go  on  producing  one  shoot 
after  another,  and  crowning  all  with  their  hand- 


182  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

some  arrow-shaped  leaves  and  waxy  spathes  like 
great  arum  lilies.  However  the  floating  grass  may 
try  to  cover  them  with  its  dense  mat  they  push 
through  the  thickest  covering.  Each  shoot  is  a 
living  spear,  ready  to  pierce  almost  any  accumu- 
lation, and  rise  well  above  the  surface  before 
opening  its  leaves  to  exclude  the  light  from  below. 
Not  only  is  it  pointed,  but  also  armed  with  thick 
short  thorns,  which  tear  the  leaves  and  stems  of 
everything  the  flood  brings  in  its  way. 

The  great  rivers  of  Guiana  all  contain  islands  of 
different  sizes,  some  as  many  as  ten  miles  long, 
and  it  may  be  confidently  stated  that  nearly  all 
have  been  built  up  in  this  way  by  means  of  the 
mocca-mocca,  with  the  assistance  of  the  host  of 
thorny  Papilionacese.  The  banks  of  the  rivers  are 
also  kept  up  to  a  very  great  extent  in  the  same 
manner,  and  although  high  floods  often  carry  away 
great  clumps  of  the  arum,  its  recuperative  power  is 
so  great  that  the  line  is  soon  re-established.  As  the 
river-banks  or  shores  of  the  islands  become  con- 
solidated the  seeds  of  forest  trees  germinate,  and 
push  through  the  low  bushes  until  they  can  spread 
their  canopies  of  foliage  over  their  more  humble 
rivals,  and  smother  them  ;  then  we  get  a  bit  of  the 
forest  where  once  flowed  the  river. 

When  we  see  such  a  grand  work  continually  in 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  183 

progress  there  is  no  difficulty  in  appreciating  the 
fact  that  the  fittest  may  survive  even  by  chance. 
While  quite  prepared  to  doubt  that  fortuitous 
circumstances  alone  decide  as  to  what  shall  or 
shall  not  remain,  we  are  willing  to  allow  that  a 
great  deal  depends  on  accident.  In  the  Essequebo 
river  are  hundreds  of  islands  in  all  stages  of 
growth,  each  forming  a  little  world  of  its  own, 
and  covered  with  dense  forest  or  jungle.  Those 
near  to  the  mouth  have  been  mainly  the  work  of 
the  courida  and  mangrove,  of  which  we  shall  have 
something  to  say  in  another  chapter,  but  away 
from  the  mingling  of  sea-water  all  the  others  have 
been  gained  from  the  flood  by  the  fortunate 
deposit  of  seeds  and  plants  floated  down  by  itself. 
Most  of  the  forest  trees  provide  their  seeds  with 
spongy  or  cellular  pods,  by  which  they  are  carried 
away  to  long  distances  and  deposited  by  accident 
along  the  banks  of  every  river  and  creek.  Were  it 
not  for  the  openings  produced  by  the  flood  hardly 
a  seed  would  ever  get  an  opportunity  of  gaining 
a  position  for  itself,  but  as  it  is  the  water  under- 
mines one  forest  giant  and  carries  seed  to  replace 
it  by  another.  It  almost  seems  at  first  as  if  the 
mocca-mocca  provides  a  breakwater  for  the  other 
plants,  but  when  we  see  that  they  have  been  push- 
ing it  farther  and  farther  into  the  stream  for  ages, 


184  M  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

until  it  has  accommodated  itself  to  adverse  circum- 
stances, such  an  idea  is  impossible.  No,  this  great 
arum  is  as  selfish  as  the  rest,  and  cares  nothing 
for  those  coming  behind  as  long  as  they  do  not 
interfere  with  him.  When  they  spread  their  great 
branches  over  his  foliage,  and  he  can  hardly  see 
the  sun,  his  energies  are  crippled,  and  he  sinks 
down  to  a  puny  dwarf  of  three  or  four  feet  high,  or 
perhaps  is  killed  altogether.  Nevertheless  we  must 
give  him  credit  for  his  good  work  whether  he  has 
meant  to  do  it  or  not ;  thank  him  that  our  river- 
banks  are  comparatively  stable,  and  that  some  of 
the  islands  he  has  been  instrumental  in  erecting 
are  habitable. 

A  similar  work  to  that  going  on  in  the  river 
is  also  being  performed  in  the  tortuous  creeks. 
Their  courses  are  continually  changing  through 
the  struggle  between  the  trees  and  the  flood.  That 
the  struggle  is  intense  can  easily  be  seen  by  the 
naturalist,  and  even  an  ordinary  observer  must 
recognise  the  innumerable  signs  of  its  presence. 
As  he  is  paddled  round  bend  after  bend  during  the 
flood  the  strained  muscles  of  his  negroes'  shoulders 
indicate  that  they  are  pulling  against  a  mighty 
force.  Then  he  comes  across  fallen  trees,  float- 
ing logs,  uprooted  palms,  gree.t  gaps  in  the  wall 
of  foliage,  and  sometimes  large  accumulations 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  185 

which  check  his  progress  until  a  passage  is  cut. 
Then,  also,  he  sees  great  clumps  of  palms  (Bactris), 
beds  of  marantas,  and  large  masses  of  tree  roots 
extending  out  into  the  water,  and  can  understand 
that  as  they  increase  the  channel  must  become 
narrower  and  narrower.  That  tree  which  towers 
so  far  overhead  has  an  immense  cluster  of  roots 
which  are  washed  perfectly  clean  on  the  creek 
bank,  and  even  overhang  it.  If  it  were  not  that 
its  branches  are  wedged  and  interlaced  so  closely 
with  its  neighbours  you  would  think  it  dangerous 
to  pass  under.  It  has  gone  on  for  years  en- 
croaching farther  and  farther,  and  now  the  creek 
begins  to  resent  the  consequent  narrowing  of  its 
channel.  Already  it  has  given  the  forest  giant  a 
warning  by  excavating  a  deep  hole  under  its  roots, 
and  now  only  waits  that  increase  of  power  which 
will  come  with  the  heavy  rains  to  overthrow  the 
stately  giant. 

That  clump  of  thorny  palms,  so  impenetrable  to 
both  man  and  beast,  is  also  at  work  vainly  attempt- 
ing to  curb  the  powerful  stream.  One  sucker  after 
another  comes  up,  each  a  few  inches  beyond  its 
neighbour,  and  in  a  year  or  two  the  clump  forms  a 
little  headland,  which  drives  the  stream  to  deepen 
its  channel  on  the  opposite  side.  During  the  long, 
dry  season,  while  the  water  was  low,  the  palm 


1 86  IN  THE  GUIANA  r ORE  ST. 

made  considerable  headway,  getting  a  good  hold 
in  the  mud,  until  now  it  bids  fair,  if  not  checked, 
to  close  the  passage  altogether.  You  almost  graze 
it  as  your  bateau  is  paddled  through,  and  the 
negroes  cry,  "  Look  out  for  pimpler  (thorn),  boss ! " 
a  warning  by  no  means  superfluous,  as  its  long 
needles  might  cause  serious  injury  were  they  drawn 
across  the  face. 

By  and  by  the  flood  comes — the  channel  is  not 
wide  enough — the  water  boils  and  eddies  behind 
the  great  root  or  clump,  carrying  off  great  masses 
of  clay  and  washing  the  roots  clean.  We  can 
almost  fancy  the  palm  standing  up  defiantly  while 
the  flood  is  raging  to  get  past.  Something  must 
be  done,  and  as  the  palm  will  not  give  way  the 
stream  clears  a  passage  behind  and  turns  it  into  a 
little  island.  Perhaps  the  flood  is  very  high  and 
strong,  and  the  palm  clump  stands  in  the  midst 
of  a  raging  torrent,  filled  with  floating  logs  and 
uprooted  bushes,  which  are  checked  by  the 
obstruction  and  piled  one  upon  another  until  the 
whole  forms  a  dam,  which  raises  the  water  behind 
to  the  height  of  several  inches.  The  stream  is 
running  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour,  or  even 
more,  and  as  it  meets  this  check  it  rages  behind, 
foams  at  the  top,  runs  through  at  accelerated  speed, 
and  presses  its  tons  of  water  against  the  barrier. 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  187 

Suddenly  the  clump  of  palms  is  torn  up  bodily, 
the  mass  floats  down-stream,  clearing  away  a  hun- 
dred other  obstructions,  and  goes  down  to  the  sea, 
to  be  perhaps  thrown  ashore  a  perfect  tangle  of 
fibres  and  broken  stems. 

When  a  giant  mora  is  undermined  by  the  flood, 
and  can  no  longer  be  supported  by  its  weaker 
neighbours,  it  comes  down  with  a  great  crash, 
carrying  destruction  to  everything  in  its  way.  A 
score  of  smaller  trees  will  have  their  heads  torn  off 
or  limbs  severed,  and  perhaps  a  hundred  palms 
marantas,  and  low  bushes,  be  smashed  to  pieces. 
The  great  branches  get  broken  in  the  fall,  but  still 
the  tree  rarely  rests  on  the  ground  as  there  is  such 
a  great  heap  of  debris  under  its  head.  At  the 
other  end  the  great  mass  of  roots  has  been  driven 
backwards,  ploughing  up  a  groove,  which  is  imme- 
diately taken  over  by  the  flood  and  excavated 
deeper  to  make  up  for  the  partial  obstruction  of 
the  immense  bole.  Now  comes  the  grand  work  of 
clearing,  or  stowing  away,  such  an  immense  trunk, 
which  is  not  accomplished  for  several  years.  First 
the  branches  are  invaded  by  hordes  of  termites, 
which  build  their  great  black  nests  in  the  upper 
forks,  and  tunnel  every  part  down  to  the  great 
trunk.  As  this  weakens  the  props  they  break  off 
and  the  trunk  settles  down  more  and  more  until  it, 


188  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

rests  upon  the  earth.  Perhaps  what  was  once  the 
lower  end,  near  the  roots,  is  actually  in  the  water, 
and  then  a  barrier  is  formed  against  which  the 
current  is  continually  raging.  The  work  of  the 
termites  still  goes  on  in  that  part  above  water 
until  it  crumbles  by  its  own  weight,  and  in  a  year 
or  so  the  only  portion  not  decayed  and  rotten  is 
that  which  is  actually  immersed.  The  flood  finds 
no  very  great  difficulty  in  dealing  with  this — the 
heavy  rains  fall,  great  floating  masses  come  down 
and  get  jammed  under  the  log,  the  ends  are  exca- 
vated from  their  resting-places,  pushed  this  way 
and  that,  carried  some  distance  by  the  floating  raft, 
and  finally  dropped  in  some  deep  place  to  remain 
for  ages  and  go  under  the  name  of  a  tacouba. 

These  tacoubas  litter  the  bottom  of  every  river, 
but  it  is  only  in  the  smaller  creeks,  when  the  water 
gets  low,  that  they  can  be  seen.  Within  the  tidal 
influence  at  low  water  the  swift  current  is  seen 
running  over  and  among  them  with  the  velocity  of 
a  rapid.  At  such  times  the  tacoubas  endanger  a 
frail  craft  by  uplifting  or  boring  holes  as  it  comes 
swiftly  down  the  stream,  notwithstanding  the 
Indian's  skill  with  his  steering  paddle.  Like  the 
oak  logs  found  in  peat,  these  tacoubas  seem  to 
harden  under  water,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
estimate  their  age.  Like  rocks,  they  are  un- 


ON  THE  RIVERS  AND  CREEKS.  189 

doubtedly  worn  away  by  the  continual  wash,  as 
may  be  seen  from  their  rounded  surfaces,  but 
otherwise  they  may  be  considered  almost  ever- 
lasting. In  the  old  creek  beds  they  are  found  in 
the  midst  of  the  sand,  clay,  and  pebbles,  even  then 
often  preserved  for  an  indefinite  period,  although 
becoming  brittle,  and  even  soft,  in  a  porous  soil. 
From  borings  made  in  the  alluvion  of  the  coast  it 
has  been  found  that  this  semi-fossil  wood  still 
remains  undecomposed  at  depths  of  over  a  hun- 
dred feet,  being  only  reduced  to  its  elements  when 
brought  to  the  surface. 

As  development  is  only  possible  through  a 
multitude  of  generations,  the  work  of  the  river  and 
creek  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  There  must 
be  destruction  to  make  room  for  new  individuals. 
Without  this  the  same  trees  would  live  on  for  ages, 
and  once  the  forest  was  occupied  no  room  could  be 
found  for  a  single  seedling.  When,  therefore,  we 
see  that  the  country  is  intersected  with  such  a 
multitude  of  streams,  and  that  these  are  continually 
changing  their  courses  more  or  less,  at  each  slight 
alteration  giving  an  opportunity  for  some  new 
seedling  to  come  to  the  front,  we  can  understand 
why  species  are  by  no  means  at  a  standstill. 
Instead  of  stagnation  there  are  continual  changes 
taking  place,  and  it  may  be  safely  affirmed  that 


190  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

every  gully  and  level  spot  in  the  whole  country 
has  been  at  some  time  or  other  the  bed  of  a 
creek.  From  the  battle  with  the  waters  the  species 
comes  out  stronger  and  more  fitted  to  continue  the 
struggle,  notwithstanding  that  the  individual  has 
been  overcome. 

When  we  contemplate  this  destruction  from  one 
point  of  view  it  seems  most  distressing.  A  mag- 
nificent giant  of  the  forest  towers  above  our  heads 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  it  has  fallen  and  carried 
destruction  to  others  in  its  descent.  The  work  of 
centuries  has  been  undone  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
there  lies  the  victim  of  the  ruthless  flood.  But 
every  year,  or  twice  a  year,  the  warrior  has  been 
doing  his  level  best  to  scatter  his  progeny  over  the 
surface  of  his  enemy,  to  be  floated  through  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  country  and  carry  on  the  struggle 
wherever  there  is  an  opportunity.  Some  of  these 
will  no  doubt  be  stronger  and  better  fitted  for  the 
strife  than  their  parent  and  therefore  be  an  honour 
to  the  family.  The  individual  in  nature  lives  in 
his  children,  and  as  long  as  any  of  his  descendants 
remain  we  cannot  say  he  is  really  dead.  No,  a 
step  in  the  ladder  of  evolution  has  broken,  but  as 
the  climber  will  never  require  to  retrace  his  steps 
the  broken  foothold  has  become  quite  useless. 


' 


A   CLEARING. 


To  face  p.  191. 


X. 

UP  IN  THE   TREES. 

NEITHER  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  nor  in  the 
forest  is  there  room  for  anything  like  the  smaller 
herbaceous  plants  so  common  in  English  woods. 
Anemones  and  bluebells  flower  before  the  trees 
put  on  their  summer  vesture,  when  plenty  of  light 
is  obtainable  ;  here  the  forest  giants  are  never 
leafless.  At  no  time  can  the  shady  wood  be 
compared  with  the  gloomy  forest,  and  therefore  the 
presence  of  so  many  pretty  flowers  under  the  trees, 
even  in  summer,  is  easily  explainable.  In  Guiana, 
except  two  or  three  saprophytes — Voyrias  and  a 
tiny  orchid,  reduced  to  nothing  but  weak  and 
almost  colourless  stems  covered  with  minute  scales 
instead  of  leaves,  with  one  or  more  flowers — there 
are  absolutely  no  plants  on  the  ground.  Even  the 
Voyrias  require  a  little  more  light  than  they  can 
generally  find,  and  are  therefore  wanting  under 
the  densest  shade. 

191 


I9i  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

To  see  the  representatives  of  the  pretty  wood 
flora  of  temperate  climes  we  must  look  overhead, 
and  even  then  find  nothing  unless  we  go  to  the 
banks  of  the  creek,  the  edge  of  the  forest,  or  the 
sand-reef.  In  the  recesses  there  is  absolutely 
nought  but  bare  trunks  and  leafless  bush-ropes. 
Even  the  epiphytes  want  c<  light,  more  light,"  and 
without  it  cannot  exist.  Where,  however,  enough 
of  this  precious  influence  is  obtainable  they  crowd 
every  branch  and  twig  almost  to  the  ground,  and 
carry  the  struggle  for  life  right  up  to  the  tree-tops. 
Here  is  a  little  world  in  itself — a  world  only  repre- 
sented in  temperate  climes  by  a  few  mosses  and 
lichens,  with  here  and  there  a  fern.  Monster 
arums  twelve  feet  in  diameter  occupy  the  great 
forks,  and  throw  down  long,  cord-like  aerial  roots 
from  their  nest-like  rosettes  of  great  arrow  or 
heart-shaped  leaves.  Looking  up  as  we  push 
these  cords  aside,  the  plants  are  barely  discern- 
ible, on  account  of  the  crowd  of  other  epiphytes 
which  surround  them.  Screens  of  creepers,  with 
their  festoons  of  handsome  flowers,  masses  of 
the  mistletoe-like  Rhipsalis  Cassytha,  pendulous 
branches  of  grass-like  ferns,  and  a  thousand 
epiphytes  on  every  branch,  obscure  the  view 
and  make  it  hard  to  say  from  whence  a  par- 
ticular aerial  root  is  derived.  Some  branches 


SILK   COTTON-TREE   CROWDED   WITH    EPIPHYTES. 


To  face  p.  193. 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  193 

are  occupied  by  dense  rows  of  Tillandsias,  which, 
as  it  were,  push  everything  else  aside  and  take 
possession  of  the  upper  surface.  They  can  only 
grow  upright,  as  their  vase-like  circles  of  leaves 
form  reservoirs  of  water  against  the  time  when 
little  or  no  rain  falls.  Other  plants  have  had  to 
store  up  moisture  in  many  different  ways,  but  this 
is  probably  the  simplest,  and  gives  less  trouble 
than  the  building  up  of  an  assemblage  of  cells. 
In  the  mountains  similar  reservoirs  are  utilised 
by  the  beautiful  Utricularia  Humboldtii,  as  if  they 
were  pools — a  striking  example  of  the  many  shifts 
and  expedients  of  plant  life  to  prevent  a  single 
ray  of  sunlight  being  wasted. 

These  are  by  no  means  all  the  epiphytes. 
Hardly  a  twig  is  free  from  them  unless  the 
gloom  be  too  great.  Fortunately  most  of  them 
have  attained  the  power  of  living  on  very  little 
light,  as  certain  others  can  exist  and  thrive  in 
places  where  we  might  expect  them  to  be  burnt 
up.  Yet,  although  these  more  delicate  epiphytes 
never  see  the  sun,  they  differ  much  as  to  the 
amount  of  light  they  require.  On  the  boles  of  the 
trees,  often  below  the  level  of  even  ordinary  floods, 
grow  patches  of  filmy  ferns,  the  leaves  in  some 
species  overlapping  each  other  and  entirely  cover- 
ing the  bark  for  several  feet.  A  little  higher 


194  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

comes  the  Polypodium  piloselloides,  and  above 
that  the  Peperomia  nummularifolia,  both  of  which 
spread  their  thread-like  stems  in  every  direction, 
decked  with  pretty  oval  or  circular  leaves,  covering 
even  the  tiniest  branches.  Among  them  hepaticae 
and  mosses  spring  up,  and  on  these  grow  little 
orchids  with  almost  microscopic  flowers,  all  com- 
bining to  give  a  festive  appearance  to  the  whole. 
These  tiny  beauties  are,  however,  rarely  seen  from 
the  creek — in  front  there  is  only  a  bank  of  foliage 
which  shuts  off  everything  behind.  Pushing  our 
bateau  through  the  screen,  however,  and  looking 
up,  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  in  the  world  is 
revealed.  In  the  half-light,  which  is  so  grateful 
to  the  eyes  as  well  as  the  feelings,  we  see  the 
main  stem  rise  like  a  pillar,  clothed  in  green,  and 
decked  perhaps  here  and  there  with  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  of  that  pretty  orchid,  Zygopetalon 
rostratum.  From  this  rise  at  intervals  numerous 
garland-covered  branches,  on  which  are  seated  the 
rosettes  and  clumps  of  such  plants  as  Pleurothallis, 
Stelis,  and  Specklinia,  some  of  them  unequalled 
in  beauty,  although  excelled  in  size  by  the  larger 
members  of  their  family. 

Reluctantly  leaving  this  fairy  bower,  we  again 
come  out  into  the  creek  and  look  up  to  a  great 
branch  which  extends  almost  horizontally  a  few 


UP  IN  THE   TREES.  195 

yards  above  our  heads.  On  the  upper  edge  the 
inevitable  line  of  Tillandsias  has  taken  the  first 
place,  pushing  every  other  plant  aside  to  do  the 
best  it  can.  However,  there  are  one  or  two  species 
not  disposed  of  quite  so  easily.  The  Rhipsalis 
pachytera,  that  curious  ribbon-like  cactus,  is  strong 
enough  to  insinuate  himself  into  the  midst  of  the 
enemy,  and  make  it  stand  the  strain  of  his  long 
archings  and  pendulous  extensions.  It  almost 
seems  as  if  this  were  done  deliberately — the 
Tillandsia  tried  to  push  off  the  cactus,  the  latter 
secured  himself  by  holding  on  to  the  hustler, 
with  the  result  that  the  one  has  to  hold  the 
other  up,  or  both  will  fall  into  the  creek  and 
be  drowned.  The  beautiful  golden  fern,  Chry- 
sodium  vulgare,  has  also  succeeded  in  pushing  its 
scaly  rhizomes  among  the  roots  of  the  Tillandsia, 
and  hangs  its  fronds  in  every  direction  round  the 
branch.  By  means  of  its  creeping  habit  it  is  able 
to  grow  in  any  direction,  and  is  therefore  very 
common,  not  only  on  the  branches  of  trees,  but 
on  their  stems  as  well.  Among  the  plants  which 
have  been  driven  to  the  edge  are  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  orchids.  Doubtless  they  at  one  time  grew 
upright,  but  from  the  continual  pressure  of  circum- 
stances they  have  become  perfectly  fitted  to  their 
environment.  We  may  fancy  them  in  some  past 


196  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

age  asking  the  question,  "  Shall  we  develop  our- 
selves to  fight  the  enemy,  or  get  out  of  the  way  ? '' 
As  gentlemen  they  chose  the  latter  course,  with 
the  result  that  their  progress  has  been  towards 
greater  perfection  in  form  and  colour,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  everything  hard  and  disagreeable.  Their 
enemy,  on  the  contrary,  has  gone  on  with  his 
bullying,  until  now  he  is  often  clothed  with  spines, 
and  perhaps  as  disagreeable,  to  our  sense  of 
beauty,  as  the  orchid  is  harmonious. 

There,  on  the  side  of  a  branch,  is  a  fine  clump 
of  Brassia  Lawrenceana,  its  spikes  of  yellow  flowers 
dotted  with  crimson  arching  gracefully  over,  and 
apparently  quite  content  to  grow  sideways.  Like 
many  other  orchids  of  the  same  habit,  however, 
the  Brassias  are  not  only  able  to  grow  upright  as 
well  as  inclined,  but  also  to  bear  crowding.  This 
is  not  the  case  with  its  neighbour,  the  Stanhopea 
eburnea,  which,  sitting  a  little  below,  pushes  its 
two  or  three  handsome,  waxy-white  flowers  from 
below  the  pseudo-bulbs  outwards  and  downwards. 
Although  the  plant  itself  is  almost  upright,  its 
short  flower-stems  could  not  reach  the  light  with- 
out an  opening  below,  nor  could  they  do  anything 
if  crowded  on  the  upper  edge  of  its  support. 
Another  stage  in  the  progress  of  accommodation 
is  shown  close  by  in  the  Gongora  atropurpurea. 


OP  Itt  THE  TREES.  1$7 

This  plant  also  is  able  to  grow  upright,  but  its 
lax  flower-spike  is  pendulous,  allowing  the  curious, 
grasshopper-like  flowers  to  hang  two  feet  or  more 
below  the  branch.  But  even  yet  we  have  not 
come  to  the  end  of  these  contrivances,  for  the 
Scuticaria  can  actually  grow  underneath  the  limb 
and  hang  its  flexible,  cord-like  leaves  straight 
downwards — in  fact,  although  the  plant  may  grow 
on  the  side,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  it  to  stand 
upright.  As  may  be  supposed,  it  has  few  com- 
petitors for  this  position,  and  can  be  considered 
as  having  reached  the  highest  point  on  this  par- 
ticular line.  A  similar  development  is  exemplified 
in  an  epiphytal  class  of  ferns  (Acrostichum). 
Some  species  have  short,  thick,  leathery  leaves, 
and  grow  either  upright  or  leaning ;  another  divi- 
sion has  the  leaves  thinner,  more  or  less  pendant, 
but  still  short ;  while  at  least  one  species  hangs 
down  like  a  bundle  of  long,  flexible  ribbons. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  reservoir  of  water  con- 
tained in  the  Bromelias,  and  must  now  deal  with 
the  contrivances  of  other  plants  for  preserving  life 
during  a  long  drought.  For,  although  the  rain- 
fall is  so  heavy,  nevertheless  there  is  generally  an 
intermission  of  at  least  two  consecutive  months  in 
every  year.  Then  the  epiphytes  would  wither  and 
die  if  some  provision  were  not  made  against  such 


198  tN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

a  contingency.  Even  the  little  pool  of  the  Bromelia 
does  not  last  many  weeks  ;  but  not  content  with 
that,  the  far-seeing  plant  has  taken  care  to  reduce 
the  evaporation  from  its  leaves  to  a  minimum  and 
made  them  hard  and  horny.  In  epiphytal  ferns 
moisture  is  stored  in  thick,  leathery,  or  scaly 
leaves,  and  in  rhizomes  of  a  similar  nature.  In 
the  orchids,  however,  we  have  the  pseudo-bulb — a 
unique  contrivance  by  which  moisture  is  retained 
through  the  longest  drought.  When  the  leaves 
are  thin  they  are  often  dropped,  and  the  plant 
becomes  nothing  more  than  a  bundle  of  green 
pseudo-bulbs  attached  to  its  support  by  a  few 
almost  dry  aerial  roots.  In  this  dormant  con- 
dition it  rests  quietly,  and  uses  the  store  of 
moisture  simply  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  itself 
alive.  Other  species  have  smaller  pseudo-bulbs, 
and  thicker  leaves,  which  are  not  deciduous — these 
rest  somewhat,  but  never  to  the  same  extent  as 
the  first  Finally,  we  have  species  without  any 
means  of  storage  except  their  thick,  leathery 
leaves,  and  these  appear  to  endure  drought  with 
less  injury  than  the  others. 

That  these  epiphytes — air-plants,  as  they  are 
sometimes  called — are  able  to  live  in  the  way 
they  do,  shows  a  marvellous  power  of  develop- 
ment in  some  past  age.  Some  of  them  have 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  199 

got  to  the  top  of  the  tree,  actually  as  well  as 
metaphorically,  and  we  can  hardly  conceive  of 
further  advance  in  that  direction.  Here  and 
there  we  find  indications  of  the  lines  they  have 
followed,  especially  among  the  orchids,  which, 
taken  altogether,  are  undoubtedly  ahead  of  all 
the  rest.  Thus  the  genus  Catasetum  contains 
some  species  which  live  on  the  sand-reef,  others 
growing  on  low  trees  in  the  swamp,  and  one 
which  has  found  a  congenial  home  among  the  leaf- 
stalks of  the  eta  palm.  In  the  pure  white  sand 
there  is  little  more  nourishment  to  be  obtained 
than  on  the  trees — in  both  places  the  plant  can 
obtain  virtually  nothing  but  air  and  moisture. 
Going  down  to  the  pipe- clay  savannah,  is  again 
but  a  short  step  as  the  soil  here  is  hardly  more 
fertile  than  the  sand.  Again,  on  the  mountains, 
orchids  flourish  indifferently  on  rocks  or  low  trees, 
and  it  can  easily  be  understood  that  a  tree  growing 
in  a  crevice  may  push  out  as  it  rises  upward 
the  plant  which  has  made  itself  fast  to  its  young 
stem  or  branches. 

However  wonderful  the  habitat  of  the  orchid 
may  be,  it  can  not  be  compared  with  its  other 
developments.  As  we  have  seen,  the  leap  into 
the  trees  was  but  a  short  one,  for  which  it  had 
long  been  prepared  ;  but  what  shall  we  say  to  the 


200  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

construction  of  a  home  for  ants,  so  that  its  tender 
aerial  roots  may  be  protected  from  cockroaches 
and  other  pests?  This  many  species  have  ac- 
complished, and  now  do  it  so  thoroughly  as  to 
derive  considerable  benefit  from  the  contrivance. 
Perhaps  the  most  perfect  of  these  homes  are 
those  provided  by  Schomburgkia  and  Diacrium 
bicornutum.  In  them  we  have  a  hollow  pseudo- 
bulb,  into  which  the  ants  either  find  a  doorway 
ready  made,  or  are  offered  inducements  to  make 
one  for  themselves.  The  result  is  a  perfectly  dry, 
hollow  chamber,  on  splitting  which  the  tiers  of 
cells  and  galleries  are  seen  ranged  from  top  to 
bottom.  Another  and  quite  distinct  harbour  for 
an  ant  garrison  is  that  of  the  Coryanthes.  There 
are  several  species,  all  of  which  appear  to  grow 
in  the  same  manner,  attached  to  bush-ropes 
rather  than  perched  on  limbs  of  trees.  This  is 
so  obviously  suited  to  their  peculiar  manner  of 
growth  that  it  is  quite  conceivable  the  plants  may 
have  been  first  carried  up  from  the  sand  by  the 
tightening  of  the  stem  of  a  creeper  as  a  growing 
tree  carried  its  mass  of  foliage  higher  and  higher. 
Otherwise,  we  might  fancy  they  pushed  off  from  a 
branch  and  being  caught  as  they  fell  to  make  them- 
selves at  home  under  new  conditions.  However  this 
may  have  been,  the  fact  remains  that  the  plant  is 


AN   ORCHID   ASSOCIATED   WITH    OTHER    EPIPHYTES. 


To  face  p.  200. 


UP  IN  THE  TRE2S.  261 

now  entirely  suited  to  its  habitat,  and  flourishes 
to  perfection  in  places  where  few  other  orchids 
succeed  in  establishing  themselves.  Instead  of 
a  hollow  pseudo-bulb,  the  Coryanthes  provides 
an  oval  mass  of  fibrous  roots,  as  distinct  from 
those  so  well  known  in  the  other  orchids  as  their 
object  is  different  In  the  Coryanthes  the  ants 
establish  themselves,  filling  up  the  interstices  to 
make  a  waterproof  nest,  whence  they  are  ready  to 
issue  on  the  least  alarm  of  an  enemy.  Being 
carnivorous  they  can  do  the  plant  no  harm,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  are  so  useful  that  without  them 
it  suffers  greatly  from  cockroaches  and  other  pests. 
This  is  easily  proved  by  specimens  brought  to 
our  gardens,  where,  on  account  of  the  collectors 
having  removed  their  useful  tenants  by  soaking 
them  in  water,  they  are  particularly  subject  to  the 
attacks  of  insects  and  rarely  thrive  for  any  length 
of  time.  The  nearly-allied  Gongoras  also  make 
a  less  perfect  provision  for  ants,  and  the  great 
Ondidium  altissimum  often  has  such  large  com- 
munities that  the  collector  finds  it  very  difficult 
to  dislodge  the  plant  from  its  perch  without 
getting  severely  bitten.  Here  we  see  a  gradual 
transition  from  long  aerial  roots  running  in  every 
direction,  and  a  massing  together  of  an  intricate 
maze  of  fibres. 


202  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

The  long  aerial  roots,  so  common  in  orchids, 
are  mainly  concerned  in  securing  a  firm  hold 
to  their  support,  and  when  a  plant  is  removed 
to  a  new  locality  all  its  energies  are  devoted  to 
this  end.  The  orchid  seems  to  know  how  im- 
portant this  is,  and  uses  great  discrimination  in 
utilising  its  knowledge.  It  is  apparently  capable 
of  choosing  where  and  how  the  attachment  shall 
be  made,  as  although  there  is  no  doubt  great 
similarity  in  the  modes  adopted  by  individuals 
of  the  same  species,  still  close  observation  shows 
that  they  are  not  identical.  The  first  precaution 
taken  is  to  secure  itself  immediately  under  the 
bunch  of  pseudo-bulbs,  and  in  this  it  takes  so 
much  care  that  we  can  hardly  conceive  of  such 
excellent  results  coming  from  anything  less  than 
forethought.  The  plant  may  be  perhaps  wired 
to  a  block  or  placed  in  a  basket.  In  the  first 
case,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it  is  perfectly 
safe  from  falling,  it  provides  against  contingencies 
by  firmly  attaching  itself;  while  in  the  other  it 
is  more  inclined  to  throw  out  a  number  of  arms 
as  it  were,  and  twine  them  round  the  bars.  If 
the  growths  are  very  long  they  of  course  exert  a 
powerful  leverage,  and  the  attachment  requires 
to  be  all  the  stronger.  Then  the  aerial  roots 
wind  round  the  branch  and  extend  upwards  and 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  203 

downwards  for  yards,  clinging  so  tightly  that 
they  mould  themselves  as  it  were  to  every  little 
channel  and  roughness  of  the  bark.  At  the  end 
is  a  green  point  about  half  an  inch  in  length 
which  is  peculiarly  sensitive  and  such  a  luscious 
morsel  to  cockroaches  that  the  plant,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  has  in  many  cases  provided  a  garrison 
to  protect  it  When  the  plant  has  fastened  itself 
securely,  more  aerial  .roots  are  produced  which 
go  wandering  in  every  direction,  sometimes  run- 
ning among  the  creepers,  the  roots  of  ferns,  over 
the  mosses,  or  hanging  downward  without  any 
attachment  whatever.  If  there  is  another  branch 
near  the  one  on  which  they  sit  they  grow  towards 
it,  and  thus  secure  a  second  hold  in  case  of  accident 
to  the  first.  The  benefit  to  be  derived  from  this 
can  easily  be  seen  when  a  branch  dies  and  begins 
to  decay.  Then  the  sensitive  aerial  roots  seem 
to  appreciate  what  is  about  to  happen  and  loose 
their  hold.  The  sensitive  points  turn  away  in 
apparent  disgust,  the  whole  plant  shrinks  from 
what  is  poisonous  to  it,  and  will  rather  allow 
itself  to  fall  into  the  midst  of  the  thicket  below 
than  run  the  risk  of  further  contamination. 
Then  comes  in  the  advantage  of  having  a 
second  perch  which  has  perhaps  remained  healthy. 
As  the  plant  looses  itself  from  the  one,  it 


264  IN  THE  GUIANA  FO&EST. 

is  drawn  towards  the  other,  and,  perhaps  slip- 
ping off,  hangs  downward  as  if  held  by  a 
number  of  strings.  In  such  a  position  it  has 
great  difficulty  in  recovering  itself,  but  in  time 
again  raises  its  head  and  is  apparently  as  flourish- 
ing as  before.  Although  the  aerial  roots  are  mainly 
concerned  with  securing  the  orchid  on  its  perch, 
they  also  appear  to  help  the  leaves,  by  absorbing 
moisture,  and  even  in  some  cases  to  assimilate 
the  vegetable  infusions  which  continually  trickle 
down  the  tree-trunk  and  branches.  This  liquid 
manure,  however,  does  not  seem  to  be  absolutely 
necessary,  although  it  may  probably  be  of  ad- 
vantage when  obtainable. 

We  have  seen  how  different  species  accommodate 
themselves  to  their  positions  and  produce  nodding 
or  drooping  flower-spikes  to  suit.  This  is  just 
as  strikingly  exemplified  in  different  individuals. 
When  the  flower-spike  is  free  from  obstruction 
it  grows  outward  or  downward  as  the  case  may 
be,  without  altering  its  course,  but  when  it  is 
crowded  by  other  plants  or  its  own  pseudo-bulbs 
the  case  is  different.  Then,  the  young  spike 
grows  upright  as  far  as  is  necessary,  and  then 
gracefully  arches  over  until  the  flowers  can  hang 
free.  It  follows  therefore  that  the  peduncle  is 
longer  or  shorter  according  to  circumstances. 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  205 

Again,  such  plants  as  the  Stanhopea  appear  to 
have  the  power  of  selection  to  a  great  extent, 
possibly  even  so  far  as  to  choose  a  particular 
spot  on  the  outside  of  its  mass  of  bulbs  for  the 
flower  stems.  Under  cultivation  in  open  baskets 
they  commonly  push  them  straight  downwards 
through  the  bars,  which  is  obviously  almost  im- 
possible under  natural  conditions.  It  also  seems 
as  if  the  plant  calculated  the  shape  and  size  of  the 
opening  before  producing  its  flower-spike,  as  amidst 
such  a  crowd  it  might  easily  happen  that  the 
space  would  be  too  small  for  the  proper  develop- 
ment of  its  flowers.  Of  course  it  makes  a  mistake 
sometimes,  with  the  result  that  the  bud  rots  or 
the  great  blossoms  get  smothered,  but  this  occurs 
very  rarely. 

We  have  lately  been  investigating  the  life 
history  of  the  species  of  Coryanthes  and  especially 
C.  macrantha.  This  genus,  as  we  have  already 
mentioned,  has  developed  an  oval  mass  of  roots 
to  accommodate  a  garrison  of  ants.  But  it  is  not 
in  this,  or  even  in  the  selection  of  a  habitat,  that 
its  powers  are  most  highly  developed.  No,  when 
we  come  to  the  flowers  we  have  perhaps  the 
most  wonderful  arrangement  in  the  whole  vege- 
table kingdom.  When  we  see  the  pair  of  great 
flowers  at  the  end  of  their  pendant  stalk  we 


206  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

wonder  how  such  monsters  can  be  derived  from 
so  small  a  pseudo-bulb.  Sometimes  the  mass  of 
orchid  roots  is  occupied  by  a  host  of  rivals — in  a 
specimen  we  have  there  are  two  distinct  species 
of  Coryanthes,  a  Bromelia,  several  Anthuriums, 
and  a  young  shrub,  all  of  which  are  growing  on 
a  ball  hardly  a  foot  in  diameter.  It  follows 
therefore  that  in  such  a  crowd  the  plant  has 
some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  for  the  develop- 
ment of  its  flower-stem.  Nevertheless  it  does 
this  and  does  it  well.  From  between  the  crowded 
bulbs  comes  up  the  bud,  and  you  may  fancy  from 
its  direction  that  it  is  about  to  extend  upwards 
and  get  above  the  crowd.  But  it  cannot  go  quite 
so  far  as  that.  As  it  reaches  the  apex  of  the 
bulb-cluster  it  almost  seems  to  take  a  survey  of 
its  position  to  find  out  the  best  and  roomiest 
place  for  its  handsome  twins  to  occupy.  Having 
decided,  it  arches  gracefully  over  and  grows 
straight  downward,  enlarging  its  flower-buds  as 
it  goes  along.  By  and  by  you  see  that  there 
will  be  two  flowers  and  as  they  now  stand,  one 
is  sessile  above  the  other  and  obviously  too  close 
to  have  room  to  expand.  Now  the  peculiar 
Chinese-foot-like  shape  begins  to  appear,  but  still 
the  upper  bud  remains  without  a  stalk.  Presently, 
however,  the  whole  stem  becomes  enlarged,  the 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  207 

point  to  which  the  lowest  flower-bud  is  attached 
turns  outward  a  little,  and  the  pedicel  gradually 
changes  its  direction  from  perpendicular  to  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  Meanwhile  the  second 
bud  has  developed  its  own  stalk  which  takes  the 
opposite  direction,  thus  forming  two  lines  of  a 
triangle  with  buds  at  the  bases.  Now  the  two 
unopened  flowers  stand  well  away  from  each  other, 
and  the  plant  seems  measuring  the  proper  distance 
which  will  allow  of  their  opening  without  standing 
in  the  way  of  each  other.  This  object  having 
been  attained  almost  to  a  line's-breadth  and  the 
buds  of  their  full  size,  you  come  down  one  fine 
morning  to  be  astonished  at  the  transformation. 
The  tissues  which  swathed  the  foot  have  bent 
back  and  revealed  a  pretty  fairy  cup  into  which 
drips  at  intervals  from  two  horn-like  processes 
above,  tiny  drops  of  nectar. 

Darwin  has  described  a  few  of  the  peculiar  con- 
trivances by  which  orchids  are  fertilised,  and  some 
of  his  deductions  from  the  conformation  of  their 
parts  drawn  without  actual  observation  of  the 
insects  at  work  show  the  marvellous  insight  of  a 
great  mind.  But  how  he  would  have  delighted  in 
seeing  the  insects  at  work  before  his  very  eyes  ! 
To  read  of  the  fertilisation  of  the  Coryanthes  or 
Catasetum  is  one  thing,  to  observe  it  is  another. 


2o8  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

When  you  come  down  in  the  morning  and  see  a 
host  of  beautiful  metallic  green  and  gold  bees 
hovering  round  the  orchids,  you  know  at  once  that 
the  Coryanthes  speciosa  which  you  admired  in  bud 
yesterday  is  now  open.  How  these  bees,  which 
never  appear  at  other  times,  have  made  the  dis- 
covery it  is  impossible  to  tell.  There  is  a  slight 
perfume  diffused  round  the  flowers,  but  it  is  by  no 
means  pungent,  nor  does  it  extend  to  any  distance 
as  far  as  our  sense  of  smell  can  distinguish.  Yet 
the  bees  are  here  buzzing  around,  creeping  under 
the  cap-like  appendage  of  the  flower,  and  then 
flying  off  or  dropping  into  the  little  pool  below. 
Looking  inside  we  see  one  of  them  floundering  in 
the  shallow  liquid,  its  wings  bedraggled,  in  a  mess 
and  unable  to  extricate  itself.  It  struggles  to 
climb  the  slippery  sides  of  the  cup,  but  all  its 
attempts  being  useless,  it  goes  swimming  round 
and  round  until  almost  exhausted.  Presently, 
however,  it  spies  a  gleam  of  light  coming  through 
a  mouth-like  slit  where  the  apex  of  the  column 
approaches  the  cup  but  does  not  actually  touch  it. 
The -approach  to  this  slopes  upward,  and  is  very 
slippery,  but  the  insect  inserts  its  fore-legs  into  two 
little  gaps  apparently  provided  for  this  purpose 
and  drags  its  head  into  the  opening.  This,  how- 
ever, is  too  narrow  to  permit  of  its  exit  without 


UP  IN  THE  TREES.  209 

trouble,  but  at  the  same  time,  being  springy,  offers 
no  real  obstruction.  You  see  the  insect  straining 
to  get  through,  its  head  moving  now  this  side,  now 
that,  as  the  right  or  left  leg  is  brought  into  play. 
Presently  with  a  jerk  the  body  comes  through,  and 
the  almost  exhausted  bee  crawls  slowly  away. 
But  what  is  that  sticking  between  its  shoulders,  a 
conspicuous  double  mass  of  yellow  on  the  green  ? 
This  is  the  pollen  which  has  had  the  opportunity 
of  fixing  itself  in  that  position  during  the  bee's 
struggle  to  get  out,  and  the  foolish  insect  stumbling 
into  another  flower  on  the  same  spike,  or  perhaps 
on  another  plant,  unwittingly  fertilises  it,  and  thus 
completes  the  work  for  which  this  elaborate  appa- 
ratus was  contrived. 

The  species  of  Catasetum  are  almost  as  interest- 
ing, but  here  it  is  a  large  humble-bee,  black  with 
yellow  bars  across  the  abdomen,  which  is  the 
fertilising  agent.  Like  the  other,  it  is  almost  a 
stranger  to  our  gardens,  and  appears  in  a  similar 
manner  as  soon  as  the  flowers  open,  even  when 
they  are  hidden  under  a  dense  canopy  of  foliage. 
Flying  into  the  flower  the  bee's  proboscis  comes 
in  contact  with  a  sensitive,  antenna-like  appendage 
connected  with  the  little  box  in  which  the  pollen 
is  contained.  Out  jump  the  pair  of  pollen  masses 
as  if  let  fly  by  a  spring  ;  they  adhere  to  the  back 
14 


2io  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

of  the  insect  by  their  peculiar  sticky  disk,  and  are 
thus  carried  from  flower  to  flower  to  fertilise  others 
than  the  one  in  which  they  were  developed. 

Of  course  we  cannot  stand  up  and  watch  these 
operations  when  paddling  up  a  creek  ;  we  must 
bring  the  plants  into  our  gardens  on  the  coast  to 
do  that.  This  is  unfortunate  in  many  cases,  as  the 
insects  necessary  for  particular  species  only  live  in 
or  near  the  forest.  Here  and  there  we  discover 
that  a  white  flower  is  fertilised  by  a  moth,  or 
suspect  that  certain  others  benefit  from  the  visits 
of  butterflies ;  but  beyond  the  two  genera  we  have 
mentioned  no  others  have  come  under  close  obser- 
vation. Possibly  there  may  be  operations  going 
on  in  other  genera  of  which  we  know  little  or 
nothing,  almost  as  interesting  as  those  in  Cory- 
anthes  and  Catasetum  ;  but  we  can  only  guess  the 
purpose  of  their  contrivances,  which  are  so  nume- 
rous and  puzzling. 


XL 
IN  THE  SWAMP. 

BEHIND  the  fringe  of  couridas  that  guards  the 
coast  of  Guiana  lies  an  extensive  swamp,  which 
on  being  drained  becomes  one  of  the  most  fertile 
soils  in  the  world  for  the  sugar-cane.  At  present, 
however,  we  are  not  concerned  with  its  suitability 
for  plantations,  but  rather  have  to  deal  with  it  as 
it  exists  apart  from  man's  interference.  Although 
at  first  sight  it  is  nothing  but  a  dreary  waste  of 
sedges  rising  from  the  oozy  morass,  we  shall  find 
on  close  examination  that  there  is  a  continual 
struggle  going  on  here  as  in  the  forest.  We  have 
seen  how  intense  this  is  among  the  trees,  and  it 
might  be  supposed  that  the  weaker  inhabitants  of 
the  swamp  would  be  unable  to  contend  with  each 
other  like  their  powerful  cousins.  When  it  is  con- 
sidered, however,  that  there  is  not  only  a  straining 
after  light,  but  also  protective  contrivances  against 
flood,  drought,  and  fire,  to  be  developed,  we  see 

2U 


212  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

that  the  dense  carpet  of  vegetation   can   by  no 
means  remain  idle. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  creeks  which  meander 
through  the  swamp  any  attempt  to  penetrate 
would  be  hopeless  except  at  the  end  of  a  long 
dry  season,  but  by  means  of  these  natural  drains 
we  can  enjoy  the  sight  of  nature's  handiwork  with- 
out much  difficulty.  Perhaps  we  may  approach  it 
through  a  mangrove  swamp  or  a  line  of  tall  trees 
overhanging  the  lower  reaches  of  the  creek.  Here, 
as  in  the  forest  proper,  the  dark  waters  are  shaded, 
but  the  arcade  is  not  so  dark  nor  so  clear  from 
obstructions.  Not  only  are  the  trees  interesting 
from  their  variety,  but  the  wealth  of  climbers, 
epiphytes,  and  parasites  make  every  turning  appear 
more  beautiful  and  interesting  than  the  last.  The 
current  is  very  strong,  and  at  each  bend  the  stal- 
wart negro  boatmen  have  to  strain  at  their  paddles 
in  a  way  that  conclusively  proves  its  power.  Now 
we  are  at  a  standstill  for  a  minute  or  two,  as  the 
stream  appears  to  resent  our  intrusion  and  comes 
round  a  little  headland  with  amazing  rapidity. 
Sometimes  we  are  even  driven  back  among  the 
thorny  bushes,  and  have  to  look  out  that  our  faces 
be  not  scratched.  On  we  go,  however,  although 
but  slowly,  until  the  current  becomes  weaker,  and 
we  emerge  from  shade  into  bright  sunlight  At 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  213 

first  our  eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  contrast,  and  we 
can  hardly  look  up,  but  as  they  become  more 
accustomed  to  the  glare  we  can  see  over  the  wide 
meadow-like  expanse  which  stretches  for  miles  on 
either  hand. 

Here  at  least  it  may  be  said  that  there  is  light 
enough  for  everything  to  have  its  share.  But 
when  we  observe  how  dense  are  the  sedges,  and 
that  even  the  creek  is  almost  choked  with  vegeta- 
tion, this  opinion  is  expressed  with  some  hesita- 
tion. Let  us  look  a  little  closer,  and  what  do  we 
find  ?  Why,  the  struggle  for  life  is  even  more 
intense  than  in  the  forest !  There  the  trees 
extend  themselves  over  each  other  and  form  great 
canopies ;  here  the  flood  will  not  admit  of  such  a 
thing.  Anything  that  could  be  taken  hold  of  by 
the  water  would  quickly  be  uprooted  and  carried 
off;  it  has  followed,  therefore,  that  the  form  of  leaf 
which  offers  least  resistance  has  been  chosen.  This 
is  undoubtedly  the  long  and  tapering  foliage  of 
grasses  and  sedges.  These  admit  of  a  rise  and  fall 
almost  to  any  extent,  and  being  flexible  accommo- 
date themselves  also  to  a  pretty  strong  current. 
How  densely  they  are  packed  !  We  might  fancy 
that  the  sunlight  would  penetrate  right  down  to 
the  ground  ;  but  drag  up  one  of  the  sedges,  and  its 
base  is  seen  to  be  bleached  as  if  it  grew  in  the 


214  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

dark.  And  that  this  is  the  case  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  If  it  were  possible  for  us  to  walk  among 
them  without  pushing  a  leaf  aside  we  should 
certainly  find  the  shade  at  least  as  dense  as  under 
the  trees. 

Such  a  crowded  assemblage  of  vertical  leaves 
must  necessarily  gather  an  enormous  amount  of 
light,  and  that  this  is  so  can  easily  be  understood 
from  the  marvellous  energy  displayed  by  these 
grasses  and  sedges.  With  an  unlimited  supply  of 
water,  plenty  of  heat,  and  as  much  light  as  they 
can  wrest  from  their  neighbours,  we  can  almost 
see  them  grow.  An  English  meadow,  when  almost 
ready  for  the  scythe,  is  the  scene  of  a  similar 
struggle,  but  how  insignificant  in  comparison  with 
this.  There  the  highest  grasses  are  hardly  more 
than  three  feet  above  the  ground,  here  they  rise  to 
ten  feet,  or  even  more.  In  crossing  a  meadow  the 
grasses  are  easily  borne  down  before  you ;  but  in 
the  Guiana  swamp,  if  the  ground  were  at  all  dry, 
you  would  have  to  press  forward  with  your  head 
and  arms,  use  considerable  force  to  make  a  pas- 
sage, and  even  then  be  unable  to  find  your  way. 
For  the  thicket  almost  closes  again  behind  as  you 
press  along,  and  the  deep  rut  shuts  out  every- 
thing but  the  sky  above. 

We  once  had  an  experience  of  this  kind  in  the 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  215 

dry  season  when  the  bottom  of  the  savannah  was 
only  a  little  oozy.  From  our  bateau  on  the  creek 
we  had  seen  the  characteristic  ribbon-like  leaves  of 
Catasetum  longifolium — one  of  our  most  beautiful 
orchids — hanging  down  beneath  the  canopy  of  an 
eta  palm  about  fifty  yards  away.  Nothing  would 
satisfy  us  unless  we  at  least  made  an  attempt  to 
gather  it,  and  notwithstanding  hints  of  monstrous 
boas  and  venomous  insects  we  stepped  ashore. 
The  sedges  were  comparatively  light,  but  even 
then  it  was  hard  to  force  a  passage.  First  we 
tried  leaning  forward  with  our  face  protected  by 
our  hat,  at  the  same  time  dividing  the  sedges  with 
our  arms,  but  some  scratches  from  razor  grasses 
soon  showed  that  this  method  was  hardly  practi- 
cable. Then  we  turned  our  head  and  backed  for 
what  we  estimated  to  be  the  right  distance,  but 
could  see  nothing  of  the  palm.  We  had,  as  we 
thought,  moved  in  the  right  direction,  yet,  in  the 
absence  of  anything  like  a  landmark,  we  stumbled 
along,  pushing  to  this  side  and  that,  and  ultimately 
had  to  give  up  the  search.  And  then,  the  feeling 
of  loneliness  and  isolation  was  indescribable. 
True,  we  could  call  to  our  friends  in  the  bateau, 
but  could  see  nothing  of  them  any  more  than  they 
could  of  us.  Fortunately,  our  path  was  easily 
retraced  on  account  of  the  way  the  sedges  had 


216  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

been  thrust  aside,  and  we  got  back  to  see  the 
beautiful  streamers  of  the  orchid  still  hanging  in 
a  most  tantalising  manner  within  apparently  such 
easy  reach. 

During  the  rainy  season,  however,  it  would  be 
impracticable  even  to  make  such  an  attempt. 
Then  the  apparently  green  field  is  covered  with 
water  varying  in  depth  from  one  to  three  feet- 
Sometimes  one  of  the  negro  boatmen  is  sent  into 
this  morass  to  bring  in  a  dead  bird  that  has  been 
shot,  but  rarely  does  he  find  it  unless  it  is  so  close 
that  both  bird  and  man  can  be  seen  from  the 
creek.  Down  he  flounders  into  the  water,  now 
rising  on  a  tuft  almost  to  the  surface,  and  then 
slipping  to  his  middle  in  water  and  ooze,  or  perhaps 
sprawling  flat  and  cutting  his  hands  with  the  razor 
grass  in  his  attempts  to  save  himself.  As  he 
cannot  see  where  he  is  going  there  is  a  continual 
hallooing  of  "right"  or  "left"  as  he  blunders 
along,  and  sometimes  abuse  for  not  knowing  over 
well  the  meaning  of  these  words.  The  sportsmen 
in  the  boat  can  see  the  muscovy  duck  very  well, 
but  the  man  in  the  water  will  do  much  better  than 
either  of  them  could  if  he  gets  it. 

The  places  we  have  been  attempting  to  describe 
are  the  most  accessible  portions  of  the  swamp — 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  great  tracts  where  the 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  217 

mighty  razor  grass  comes  to  the  front  and  turns 
out  everything  else  ?  Here  there  is  no  question  as 
to  its  impenetrability  in  either  dry  or  wet  season. 
The  sword-shaped  leaves  of  the  monster  are  armed 
on  edge  and  keel  with  the  most  beautiful  saws 
that  can  be  imagined,  which  are  so  sharp  as  to 
make  deep  gashes  in  your  face  or  hands  almost 
before  you  are  aware  you  have  touched  them. 
Only  the  scaly  alligator  can  make  a  way  through 
the  tufts  of  this  monster,  and  even  he  is  held  in 
check  by  the  density  of  its  growth.  In  some 
places  it  covers  miles  of  the  swamp  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  everything  else,  its  great  brown  panicles 
at  certain  seasons  rising  six  or  eight  feet  above 
the  surface  and  giving  a  ruddy  tint  to  the  other- 
wise green  expanse.  Not  only  is  it  well  protected 
against  floods,  herbivorous  animals  and  rival  plants, 
but  is  able  to  endure  fire  as  well. 

When  the  dry  season  comes  and  the  morass  is 
thoroughly  drained,  the  razor  grass  begins  to  look 
parched,  and  if  no  rain  falls  for  three  or  four 
months  its  outer  leaves  shrivel  and  lose  their 
colour.  At  such  times  a  spark  from  the  fisher- 
man's camp-fire,  or  his  pipe,  comes  in  contact  with 
some  of  these  and  the  savannah  soon  bursts  into 
flames.  In  the  day  you  can  see  clouds  of  smoke 
running  along,  and  hear  a  continual  hiss  and 


218  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

crackle,  with  now  and  again  reports  like  pistol- 
shots,  but,  on  account  of  the  intense  sunlight,  see 
but  little  of  the  flames  which  are  running  along 
the  ground  and  demolishing  one  great  tuft  after 
another.  At  night  the  scene  is  magnificent.  For 
miles  the  ground  glows  like  a  furnace  and  the 
flames  shoot  up  now  and  then  in  pyramids  and 
great  sheets  as  they  spread  around  in  a  circle 
until  checked  by  the  belt  of  eta  palms  and  forest 
trees  in  the  far  distance.  When  the  fire  has  spent 
itself,  which  is  not  for  several  days,  the  once 
beautiful  green  expanse  is  an  ugly  black  field 
from  which  even  a  zephyr  raises  a  cloud  of 
charred  particles.  You  can  now  walk  upon  it  if 
you  do  not  mind  the  choking  dust  which  rises 
at  every  footstep.  All  that  remains  of  the  king 
of  the  swamp — the  mighty  razor  grass — are 
blackened  tufts  which  cover  the  ground  at 
distances  of  about  two  feet  from  each  other 
with  narrow  channels  between.  If  you  look 
closely  you  will  find  that  the  ground  itself  has 
been  burnt  and  that  it  has  sunk  for  about  a  foot. 
Your  feet  go  down  into  it  at  every  step,  in  some 
places  almost  up  to  the  knees,  and  you  get  so 
covered  with  the  flakes  as  to  appear  almost  like 
a  chimney-sweeper.  The  bottom  of  the  swamp  is 
covered  with  an  oozy  kind  of  peat  called  pegass, 
and  it  was  this  which  burnt  with  the  furnace-like 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  219 

glow  at  night.  It  is  this  also  that  tinges  all  the 
water  of  the  creeks,  making  them  of  the  well- 
known  coffee  colour  which  has  given  rise  to  the 
name  of  Rio  Negro,  so  often  applied  to  South 
American  rivers.  Unlike  peat  it  is  not  fibrous, 
but  apparently  made  up  of  layers,  which  in  dry 
seasons  can  be  separated  one  from  another,  and 
proved  to  consist  of  thin  strata  of  leaves.  It  is 
somewhat  elastic  under  foot  when  dry,  but  sinks 
at  every  step  with  a  crunching  noise  on  account 
of  its  brittleness.  When  drained  and  put  under 
cultivation,  pegass  lands  gradually  sink  until  their 
level  is  lowered  about  two  feet,  as  the  vegetable 
matter  being  exposed  undergoes  thorough  de- 
composition in  the  full  sunlight.  Like  the  reduc- 
tion of  fallen  trees  in  the  forest  to  a  rich  humus, 
the  breaking  down  of  the  cast-off  leaves  in  the 
swamp  is  an  entirely  different  operation  to  that 
which  goes  on  under  other  conditions,  and  is  well 
worth  studying.  The  main  factors  concerned  are 
moisture  and  the  absence  of  direct  sunlight, 
perhaps  combined  with  the  antiseptic  properties 
of  tannin  which  is  found  more  or  less  in  the  bark 
and  roots  of  all  the  trees  and  plants.  However, 
we  must  return  to  the  great  razor  grass,  which 
might  now  be  thought  gone  past  recovery. 
Nothing  remains  but  its  blackened  tufts  and  you 


220  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

think  it  a  good  riddance  to  such  a  pest.  Perhaps 
the  thousands  of  weaker  plants  would  think  so  too 
if  they  had  the  power  of  reasoning.  At  any  rate, 
when  the  rains  fall  and  the  flood  again  covers  the 
blackened  surface,  myriads  of  seeds  are  scattered 
everywhere,  to  sprout  and  give  it  again  that 
beautiful  meadow-like  surface.  But  the  monster 
is  scotched,  not  killed,  and  soon  every  tuft  is 
throwing  out  new  shoots  to  come  into  competition 
with  the  late  arrivals.  Then  ensues  a  great 
struggle,  the  end  of  which  can  easily  be  predicted. 
The  beautiful  saws  lacerate  everything  in  their 
way,  smother  their  pretty  rivals,  and  the  monster 
is  soon  again  master  of  the  field  and  monarch  of 
all  he  surveys. 

For  some  reason  or  other  the  great  razor  grass 
does  not  succeed  in  every  part  of  the  savannah. 
Either  the  soil  is  too  poor  or  the  water  too  shallow 
to  suit  his  greedy  appetite,  and,  therefore,  he  is 
magnanimous  enough  to  let  other  plants  occupy 
such  places.  But  even  here  the  struggle  for  life 
still  goes  on,  and  is  perhaps  all  the  more  interesting 
from  the  varied  characters  of  the  combatants. 
Here  the  sedges  are  more  delicate,  mixed  with 
pretty  grasses  and  variegated  by  flowering  shrubs. 
Palicouria  crocea  with  its  fiery  bracts ;  the  pale 
yellowjussiaeanervosa;  Rhynchantheras  with  great 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  321 

purple  flowers  ;  and  Hydrolea  spinosa  looking  like 
a  great  thorny  borage,  combine  with  ferns  (Blech- 
num  serrulatum),  aroids,  and  heliconias,  to  make 
up  quite  a  show.  Perhaps  this  part  of  the 
savannah  may  be  a  great  amphitheatre  almost 
surrounded  by  the  forest,  which  rises  as  a  sloping 
embankment  at  the  edge,  only  broken  where  the 
creek  enters  on  either  side,  and  even  there  without 
this  being  apparent  at  any  distance.  Its  most 
striking  characteristic  is  the  fringe  of  tall  eta 
palms  (Mauritia  flexuosa),  which  stands  forth  in 
front  of  the  dense  wall  of  foliage  and  keeps  guard 
as  it  were  against  the  incursions  of  the  flood. 
Like  the  courida  on  the  sea-shore  the  eta  palm 
has  developed  to  an  extent  beyond  other  species, 
a  power  of  enduring  the  flood,  so  that  it  can  exist 
and  thrive  under  circumstances  that  would  be  fatal 
to  other  forest  trees.  Even  from  its  first  stage  as 
a  young  plant  it  is  obviously  well  fitted  to  its 
environment. 

Its  specific  name,  flexuosa,  describes  the  cha- 
racter of  its  fan -shaped  leaves,  which  are  particu- 
larly flexible  when  rising  in  the  midst  of  the  water 
before  the  stem  has  been  developed.  That  this  is 
a  wise  precaution  against  the  flood  can  easily  be 
understood,  as  it  offers  little  or  no  resistance  to 
the  strongest  current.  Like  so  many  other  plants, 


222  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  eta  raises  itself  on  a  great  tuft  or  mound  of 
roots,  with  the  result  that  when  thousands  of  them 
extend  along  a  line  an  imperfect  dam  is  produced, 
which  checks  the  flow  of  water  to  a  considerable 
extent.  Another  result  is  that  the  level  of  the 
ground — if  we  may  call  that  level  which  is  made 
up  of  mounds  with  narrow  channels  between — is 
raised  several  feet. 

Leaving  the  eta  swamp  we  come  upon  one  of 
the  prettiest  scenes  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
The  creek  meanders  through  a  park-like  expanse, 
with  wavy  lines  of  bush  alternately  approaching 
and  receding  from  its  banks,  making  great  bays 
which  add  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  picture. 
The  soil  is  a  barren  white  clay  quite  free  from 
pegass,  and  except  for  the  tufts  of  fine  wiry 
grasses  and  sedges,  almost  like  a  field  of  snow. 
As  in  other  places  the  ground  is  very  uneven, 
great  clods  alternating  with  narrow  channels,  filled 
with  milky  water,  into  which  our  feet  continually 
slide  as  we  try  to  step  from  tuft  to  tuft.  As  may 
be  supposed,  the  great  monsters  of  the  swamp 
are  starved  out  of  these  little  paradises  and  the 
struggle  is  almost  entirely  one  for  food,  the 
survivors  being  those  which  require  but  little. 
As  a  natural  consequence  foliage  is  conspicuously 
meagre  and  flowers  come  to  the  front.  At  certain 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  1*3 

seasons  this  savannah  is  quite  gay — it  is  a"  veritable 
flower  garden.  Round  the  borders  grow  miniature 
pine-like  forests  of  Lycopodiums,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  beautiful  blue  bells  of  the  Lisianthus 
hang  and  relieve  the  otherwise  uniform  but  pretty 
mass  of  foliage.  All  over  the  savannah  the  phlox- 
like  flowers  of  Sipanea  pratensis  give  a  blush  of 
pink  to  the  whole  expanse,  but  not  so  as  to  ex- 
clude a  number  of  others.  In  one  place  every 
tuft  is  occupied  by  a  plant  of  Cleistes  rosea,  that 
pretty  ground  orchid  with  flowers  as  brilliant  as  a 
Cattleya,  although  not  so  large.  Then  there  are 
Burmannias,  a  host  of  Utricularias  growing  from 
pretty  rosettes,  or  accompanied  by  grassy  leaves ; 
and  the  daintiest  gem  of  all,  the  ruddy  Drosera, 
here  as  everywhere  else  entrapping  the  myriads 
of  microscopic  gnats  which  frequent  such  places. 

Leaving  this  savannah,  on  which  we  have  been 
able  to  walk  and  admire  the  host  of  pretty  flowers 
that  deck  the  surface,  we  come  back  to  the  creek, 
which  has  by  no  means  received  the  attention  it 
deserves.  Its  most  striking  feature,  besides  its 
dark  waters,  is  the  almost  total  absence  of  current 
in  the  upper  reaches.  Whereas,  near  the  mouth, 
the  stream  is  narrowed  by  the  intrusion  of  a 
thousand  clumps  of  palms  and  marantas,  as  well 
as  great  boles  of  trees,  here  it  widens  out  into  still 


*Z4  t*f  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

lagoons  almost  choked  by  the  masses  of  vege- 
tation growing  actually  in  the  water.  Above  all 
the  rest  the  most  conspicuous  are  the  water-lilies, 
the  long  flexible  leaves  and  flower-stems  of  which 
make  double  work  for  the  paddlers  as  they  have  to 
be  pushed  aside  at  every  stroke.  In  the  day  their 
flowers  are  all  closed,  but  at  night  they  lie  open  on 
the  surface  of  the  water  and  distil  their  powerful 
fragrance  into  the  damp  air  until  it  becomes 
almost  oppressive.  To  see  them  on  a  moonlight 
night  is  worth  a  long  journey,  as  they  reflect  the 
rays  as  if  they  were  fallen  stars,  especially  when 
their  petals  are  laden  with  dewdrops.  These 
plants  above  all  others  seem  as  if  specially  deve- 
loped to  suit  the  swamp.  However  shallow  or 
deep  the  waters  may  be  the  leaves  always  float  on 
the  surface.  The  petiole  may  be  a  dozen  feet  in 
length  or  only  a  single  inch  when  the  creek  is  dry. 
If  a  flood  rises  quickly  before  it  can  elongate  itself 
there  is  no  danger,  as  the  flexible  stems  and  leaves 
can  move  backwards  and  forwards  without  afford- 
ing the  least  opportunity  for  the  waters  to  take 
hold  and  drag  it  from  its  anchorage. 

Between  the  great  leaves  of  the  water-lilies  are 
patches  of  Utricularias,  their  beautiful  flowers 
standing  up  out  of  the  water  like  yellow  and 
purple  violets.  Their  lace-like  foliage  spreads 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  225 

below  the  surface,  its  green  tracery  contrasting 
with  the  ruddy-brown  fluid  in  which  it  is  merged. 
Then  we  have  the  Cabomba,  with  pretty  floating 
shields  and  finely  divided  foliage  of  a  circular  out- 
line below,  which  reminds  us  of  a  patch  of  miniature 
buttercups.  Unlike  the  water-lily  and  its  con- 
geners, these  plants  are  particularly  delicate  and 
fragile,  yet  they  flourish  to  perfection,  notwith- 
standing that  their  stems  are  torn  to  pieces  by 
every  flood.  Every  tiny  piece  is  the  parent  of  a 
host  and  the  raging  waters  only  serve  to  dissemi- 
nate it  in  all  directions,  to  again  come  to  the  front 
when  the  creek  resumes  its  wonted  stillness. 

The  swamp  is  not  entirely  devoid  of  trees. 
Besides  the  eta  palm,  the  Genipa,  the  fruit  of 
which  is  used  by  the  Indians  to  make  the  blue- 
black  markings  on  their  skins,  and  the  Tabebuia 
a  species  of  Bignoniae,  are  common.  Then  there 
is  a  host  of  other  species  all  more  or  less  suited 
to  the  swamp  and  never  found  in  the  forest 
proper.  At  first  sight  they  appear  sickly,  and 
might  be  taken  to  indicate  a  passive  endurance  of 
unsuitable  conditions.  Unlike  the  giants  of  the 
forest  they  have  no  dense  canopy  of  foliage  far 
above  the  ground,  but  are  beset  with  gnarled 
branches  almost  down  to  the  level  of  the  water. 
Then,  their  twigs  are  open  and  their  leaves  com- 
15 


2a6  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

paratively  few  and  far  between,  so  that  they 
hardly  overshadow  the  undergrowth  of  sedges, 
only  preventing  it  from  becoming  so  dense  as  in 
the  open  savannah.  Instead  of  these  characters 
being  signs  of  degradation  however,  close  obser- 
vation appears  to  indicate  that,  like  every  other 
living  thing  in  their  neighbourhood,  they  have 
been  developed  to  suit  special  conditions  and 
circumstances.  It  is  obvious  that  a  large  and 
heavy  crown  would  tend  to  bring  down  the  tree 
with  its  weight  when  loosened  by  the  flood. 
Therefore,  like  most  of  the  shrubs  under  the  same 
circumstances  they  spread  their  roots  over  the 
pegass  and  take  care  not  to  provide  a  mass  of 
foliage  which  would  obstruct  the  flow  of  the  water 
when  it  is  high,  or  tend  to  overthrow  them  by 
becoming  top-heavy.  The  effect  of  all  this  is 
beautifully  illustrated  in  the  Cabomba ;  as  long  as 
it  grows  under  water,  only  feathery  leaves  are 
produced,  but  when  it  reaches  the  surface  it  covers 
the  water  with  its  pretty  shields.  Something 
similar  takes  place  with  the  tree  ;  in  the  swamp 
its  branches  are  numerous  and  open,  while  in  the 
forest  it  produces  a  thick  canopy  of  foliage  at  the 
top  of  a  naked  trunk. 

That  the  struggle  for  life  in  the  swamp  is  more 
intense  than  that  in  the  forest  can  easily  be  under- 


IN  THE  SWAMP.  227 

stood  when  such  varied  aspects  are  considered. 
The  fight  with  others  and  the  straining  after  light 
are  similar  in  both  cases,  but  in  the  former  we  have 
also  the  endurance  of  water,  provision  against  the 
flood,  the  ability  to  flourish  where  there  is  prac- 
tically no  food,  and,  most  wonderful  of  all,  the 
power  of  the  razor  grass  to  endure  and  recover 
from  its  cremation. 


XII. 
ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN. 

WE  have  seen  that  with  the  continual  destruction 
going  on  in  the  forest  there  is  ample  scope  for 
development.  On  the  sand-reef  or  mourie,  how- 
ever, this  is  not  so  patent,  and  we  should  therefore 
expect  to  find  a  more  primitive  flora  in  such 
places.  Again,  when  we  get  to  the  mountain 
region  of  the  interior,  the  plants  will  probably  be 
of  still  more  archaic  types.  Standing  as  these  do 
high  above  the  point  reached  by  the  flood,  they 
have  one  element  the  less  to  contend  with,  and 
are  therefore  all  the  better  enabled  to  cope  with 
the  disabilities  peculiar  to  their  position. 

The  mourie  was,  as  we  have  said,  the  sea- shore 
of  some  past  age,  before  the  alluvion,  on  which 
the  plantations  now  stand,  was  in  existence.  It 
consists  of  reefs  rising  to  a  height  of  about  a 
hundred  feet,  with  gullies  and  slopes,  sometimes 

narrowed  to  a  ridge,  at  others  broadening  out 

228 


ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN.     229 

into  plains  of  several  miles  in  extent.  The  vegeta- 
tion is  quite  distinct  from  that  of  the  forest,  not 
only  in  form  but  also  in  kind,  consisting  of 
clumps  of  thick  bushes  with  spaces  between,  or  a 
thin  forest  somewhat  resembling  that  of  temperate 
climates.  Between  these  clumps  the  white  sand 
is  often  quite  bare,  and  reflects  the  intense  sun- 
light to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  quite  painful.  It 
is  often  so  hot  that  the  bare-footed  Indian  has 
to  cut  pieces  of  bark  and  make  sandals  before 
attempting  any  long  journey  across  it.  Sometimes 
we  come  upon  open  spaces  of  a  moderate  size,  where 
a  thin  wiry  carpet  of  under-shrubs  manages  to  exist, 
mixed  with  a  few  annuals  in  the  rainy  seasons. 
These  little  shrubs  consist  of  several  species  of 
Papilionaceae,  Cinchonaceae,  and  Melastomaceae, 
and  the  annuals  of  a  Polygala  or  two,  and  a  few 
grasses.  In  such  places  also  the  pine-apple  is 
common,  not  perhaps  truly  wild,  but  probably  the 
offspring  of  the  head  of  a  fruit  thrown  down  there 
in  some  past  time.  Many  of  the  plants  on  these 
places  are  very  pretty,  with  a  heath-like  habit,  and 
when  in  flower  give  the  mourie  quite  a  gay 
appearance.  All  over  the  sand  are  myriads  of 
ant-tracks  which  remind  us  of  the  runs  near  a 
rabbit  warren  in  England. 

It  is  not  however  the  open   places    that  the 


230  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

naturalist  finds  most  interesting,  but  rather  the 
borders  of  the  clumps  of  bushes,  where,  lightly 
shaded,  an  assemblage  of  very  interesting  plants 
are  growing.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  to  a  new- 
comer are  the  species  of  Paepalanthus,  which  grow 
in  tufts,  their  rosettes  of  whitish  hairy  leaves,  in 
some  kinds  hardly  bigger  than  the  thumb-nail, 
reminding  him  of  the  pretty  cushion-pink  so  well 
known  in  English  gardens.  Some  species,  very 
common  on  the  dry  savannahs  of  the  interior,  are 
much  larger,  with  tufts  as  big  as  the  top  of  a  child's 
head,  their  whitish  bristly  leaves  closely  resembling 
the  unkempt  hair  of  some  ragged  urchin.  Another 
curiosity  is  the  Schizsea  dichotoma,  a  fern,  the 
leaves  of  which  are  more  like  those  of  a  wiry 
sedge  than  others  of  its  family.  But  by  far  the 
most  handsome  plants  in  such  places  are  the 
Cyrtopodiums,  great  orchids  with  long  pseudo- 
bulbs,  rising  two  or  three  feet  above  the  sand, 
overtopping  which  stand  panicles  of  splendid 
golden  flowers.  Like  some  of  the  epiphytes  these 
harbour  nests  of  ants  among  their  roots,  and 
although  it  might  easily  be  said  that  they  have 
come  there  by  accident,  we  are  of  opinion  that 
such  is  not  altogether  the  case.  Here  also  grows 
the  Catasetum  discolor,  its  curious  hood-shaped 
flowers  and  general  habit  showing  signs  that  it 


ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN.     231 

is  more  archaic  in  its  type  than  the  epiphytal 
species  of  the  same  genus.  All  about  these  places 
lichens  and  mosses  are  common,  on  the  sand  as 
well  as  on  the  bushes,  the  cushions  of  Polytrichum 
and  Octoblepharum  often  covering  large  surfaces. 

But,  perhaps  the  most  interesting  plants  on  the 
mourie  are  those  which  are  also  found  in  the 
forest  under  different  conditions.  The  Clusias 
and  figs  are  living  quite  a  harmless  life — they  no 
longer  perch  on  the  trees  to  strangle  them,  but 
use  their  best  .endeavours  to  get  over  the  diffi- 
culties of  such  a  hot  and  barren  soil.  There  is  so 
much  work  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  groping 
down  into  the  cooler  depths  for  moisture  and  the 
weak  infusion  of  vegetable  matter,  that  they  have 
hardly  time  to  attend  to  other  business. 

Instead  of  climbing  upwards  to  fight  for  a  share 
of  the  sunlight  they  have  rather  to  harden  them- 
selves against  it,  as  here  it  is  so  plentiful,  so  glaring, 
and  so  very  hot.  The  forest  giants  manage  to 
exist  here  and  there  on  the  slopes,  but  they  can 
only  do  so  by  modifying  themselves  so  much, 
that  woodcutters  distinguish  between  the  timber 
of  such  places  and  that  of  the  swamp  as  being 
harder  and  much  more  durable.  Then,  we  have 
a  wealth  of  scrambling  vines,  which  instead  of 
climbing  to  the  tree-tops,  run  along  the  sand  and 


232  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

show  the  different  conditions  by  their  paucity  of 
leaves,  hardness  of  stems,  and  brilliancy  of  colour- 
ing. The  shrubs  too  look  poor  and  meagre,  and 
are  more  subject  to  the  attacks  of  the  blood- 
sucking loranths,  although  even  these  pests  cannot 
succeed  in  forming  such  large  and  dense  masses 
as  in  other  places. 

The  vegetation  here  may  be  looked  upon  from 
two  points  of  view  ;  first,  that  which  represents 
it  as  an  approach  to  the  ancestry  of  the  trees  and 
epiphytes  of  the  forest ;  and  second,  as  a  class 
which  has  never  succeeded  in  migrating  beyond 
its  peculiar  environment.  As  there  are  epiphytal 
aroids  and  orchids,  so  there  are  also  their  proto- 
types on  the  sand-reef,  in  some  cases  differing 
considerably,  and  in  others  but  little.  The  great 
Anthurium  of  the  tree-top  is  represented  on  the 
sand-reef  by  a  similar  species,  and  one  form  of  the 
Catasetum  tridentatum  that  grows  on  branches 
beside  the  creek  as  closely  resembles  the  Catasetum 
discolor  of  the  mourie.  Excepting  some  of  the 
Clusias  and  figs,  however,  they  generally  differ 
so  much  as  to  be  ranked  as  distinct  species, 
showing  considerable  progress  since  the  remote 
time  when  the  separation  took  place.  Of  the 
second  class  the  species  of  Paepalanthus,  the 
Schizseas,  and  a  host  of  other  dwarf  wiry  plants 


ON  THE  SAND-REEF  ANB  MOUNTAIN.     233 

have  no  congeners  in  the  forest — on  the  mourie  or 
savannah  they  originated,  and  there  they  remain, 
every  generation  becoming  more  and  more  fitted 
to  their  habitat.  The  most  striking  examples 
here,  as  everywhere  else  are  the  orchids.  We  have 
already  mentioned  the  Crytopodiums,  but  the 
Sobralias  show  even  more  adaptability  to  circum- 
stances. So  distinct  are  they,  that  a  novice  would 
put  them  down  at  once  as  dwarf  bamboos  rather 
than  orchids.  Instead  of  pseudo-bulbs,  fleshy 
stems  and  delicate  leaves,  they  have  wiry  stalks 
and  dry  hairy  foliage,  only  the  magnificent 
blossoms  indicating  at  once  their  family.  These 
have  obviously  been  developed  on  the  sand-reef 
or  mountain,  probably  from  something  like  the 
Cleistes  rosea  of  the  pipe-clay  savannah.  Another 
genus  which  must  also  have  arisen  in  the  same 
localities  is  the  Vanilla,  the  only  true  climber  in 
the  order.  Here  we  have  an  elongated  fleshy 
stem  either  growing  in  the  sand  or  entirely 
detached,  and  therefore  an  epiphyte  as  much  as 
most  of  its  cousins.  By  means  of  its  power  of 
storing  moisture  in  fleshy  aerial  roots,  stems,  and 
leaves,  it  is  able  to  endure  the  strongest  sunlight 
and  thrive  where  the  others  would  be  quickly 
shrivelled  up. 

In  the  forest  proper  all  the  plants  are  perennial 


234  /^  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

in  duration,  but  on  the  mourie  we  begin  to  find 
a  few  annuals.  We  have  already  seen  that  develop- 
ment depends  a  great  deal  on  the  number  of 
generations,  and  shown  what  a  powerful  influence 
towards  that  end  is  the  flood.  Now  we  have  to 
deal  with  the  drought,  the  influence  of  which 
tends  towards  the  same  result.  If  great  trees  on 
the  creeks,  with  their  burdens  of  creepers,  epiphytes 
and  parasites,  are  destroyed  by  the  deluge,  the 
three  months  of  the  long  dry  season  play  similar 
havoc  on  the  vegetation  of  the  sand-reef.  It  is, 
therefore,  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the 
plants  should  flower  and  perfect  their  seeds  as 
quickly  as  possible,  so  that  if  the  individual  dies 
there  may  be  always  plenty  of  his  offspring  ready 
to  come  up  when  a  more  congenial  season  arrives. 
This  accounts  for  the  many  flowers,  their  attendant 
insects  and  resulting  seeds  which  we  see  here. 
Having  to  attain  this  object,  they  hardly  care  to 
waste  the  little  plant  food  they  can  obtain  on  great 
stems  and  dense  masses  of  foliage,  but  rather 
devote  their  energies  to  the  production  of  flowers. 
Few  are  so  highly  developed  as  the  Vanilla  and 
other  orchids,  which  make  such  elaborate  prepara- 
tions for  this  contingency  by  storing  food,  so  they 
have  to  make  other  arrangements,  and  these  take  the 
form  of  a  provision  in  case  of  death.  The  species, 


ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN.     235 

or  long  chain  of  individuals  with  its  myriad  links, 
takes  little  account  of  any  one  of  these  items,  as 
long  as  the  line  is  continued— whether  it  lives  a 
thousand  years  or  only  a  few  weeks  matters  little. 
It  has  therefore  followed  that  the  individual  is 
sacrificed  that  the  species  may  live,  and  many 
plants  of  the  sand-reef  have  become  virtually  or 
actually  annuals,  in  the  latter  case  going  through 
their  different  stages  in  one  rainy  season. 

In  the  south-west  of  British  Guiana  is  a  large 
tract  of  country  where  the  bed-rock  is  sand-stone, 
and  this  resembles  the  Mourie  in  many  respects. 
The  undulated  plains  which  here  break  the  con- 
tinuity of  the  forest  for  large  areas  are  called 
eppelings.  Above  the  soft  sand-stone  comes  a 
surface  of  hard  caking  mud,  or  in  some  places 
conglomerate,  when  unbroken  resembling  a  pave- 
ment of  beaten  earth,  generally  of  a  ruddy  brown 
colour.  This  covering  extends  over  hill  and  valley, 
as  well  as  over  the  undulations  of  the  savannahs, 
and  would  make  them  real  deserts  if  the  rainfall 
were  not  so  great.  However,  alternations  of 
burning  sunlight  and  deluge  make  great  seams  in 
the  crust,  into  which  water  penetrates,  producing 
the  effect  of  a  badly  laid  pavement  of  irregular 
flag  stones  without  cement,  here  and  there  piled 
irregularly  and  alternating  with  pools  of  various 


236  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

sizes  and  shapes.  Where  unbroken  the  surface 
is  absolutely  bare,  but  as  the  cracks  and  pools 
are  numerous,  this  barrenness  is  relieved  by  a 
fair  sprinkling  of  vegetation.  Naturally  the  plants 
of  this  region  have  to  provide,  like  those  of  the 
mourie,  for  the  long  dry  season,  and  they  do  so 
in  a  similar  way.  Here  and  there  are  clumps  of 
bushes,  sedges  in  the  pools,  orchids,  and  every- 
where the  widespread  Paepalanthus,  which  is  such 
a  stumbling-block  in  walking  over  these  places  as 
it  is  always  in  the  way. 

This  sandstone  region  culminates  in  that  curious 
group  of  mountains  of  which  Roraima  is  the  most 
conspicuous.  Below  the  great  precipice,  which 
towers  aloft  to  the  height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet,  is 
a  slope  where  vegetation  is  as  rampant  as  in  the 
forest,  although  of  a  different  character.  Being 
about  five  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level,  the 
flora  of  this  slope  naturally  differs  somewhat  from 
that  of  the  plain,  but  the  great  difference  comes 
from  the  excessive  amount  of  moisture.  Rarely 
indeed  does  a  day  pass  without  rain,  often  accom- 
panied by  strong  gales.  With  a  very  slight 
coating  of  soil  on  the  barren  sandstone,  it  there- 
fore follows  that  tall  trees  are  entirely  absent,  and 
even  those  lower  ones  which  manage  to  insinuate 
their  roots  into  crevices  of  the  rock  and  between 


ON  THE  SAND-REEF  AND  MOUNTAIN.     237 

the  great  boulders  which  litter  the  surface,  are 
gnarled  and  obviously  weather-worn.  As  if  crouch- 
ing on  the  ground  to  avoid  the  tempest,  they  form 
perches  and  shelter  for  such  a  jungle  as  can  only 
be  possible  under  similar  circumstances.  With 
almost  no  dry  season  to  provide  against,  develop- 
ment has  gone  to  extremes  in  certain  directions, 
but  perhaps  not  so  far  as  might  have  been  the  case 
if  the  temperature  were  higher.  Sobralia  liliastrum 
grows  here  in  great  thickets,  accompanied  by  tree 
ferns,  palms,  the  tropical  representative  of  the 
well-known  English  brakes  (Pteris  aquilina)  and  a 
Rubus  nearly  allied  to  the  familiar  blackberry. 
Here  also  the  continual  dampness  is  very  favour- 
able to  the  growth  of  hepaticae  and  mosses,  which 
cover  almost  every  branch,  and  hang  down  drip- 
ping with  moisture.  In  some  places  there  are 
bogs,  in  which  grow  pitcher  plants  (Heliamphora 
nutans),  slipper  orchids,  Xyris  and  Abolboda,  and 
in  others  the  Bromelias,  nearly  always  full  of 
water,  afford  a  congenial  home  for  Utricularia 
Humboldtii,  which  spreads  its  runners  from  one  to 
another  until  they  cover  them  like  a  network. 

The  struggle  for  existence  is  as  beautifully 
exemplified  here  as  elsewhere.  As  in  the  forest 
proper,  there  are  no  annuals,  and  no  times  for  rest. 
It  follows,  therefore,  that  the  fight  is  continuous, 


23$  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

and  every  plant  has  had  to  accommodate  itself  to 
a  moist  atmosphere  that  would  destroy  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  eppeling  or  the  mourie.  As  those 
which  live  in  the  swamp  are  suited  to  the  flood, 
so  these  on  the  mountain  have  managed  to  adapt 
themselves  to  the  mist  and  driving  rain  without 
injury. 

Yet  they  are  not  perfectly  fitted  to  their  sur- 
roundings, and  never  will  be  so.  The  winds  still 
blow  them  down,  and  the  rushing  waters  carry 
their  trunks  to  choke  up  the  creeks  in  the  valleys. 
Death  is  necessary,  and  therefore  it  is  here,  as 
elsewhere,  a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with.  It  is  the 
complement  of  life,  and  essential  to  progress. 


XIII. 
ON  THE  SEA-SHORE. 

THE  coast  of  Guiana  is  made  up  of  the  alluvion 
brought  down  by  the  great  rivers  in  past  ages, 
which  by  the  continual  work  of  trees  and  sedges 
and  grasses  has  been  raised  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  so  that  it  can  now  be  brought  under  cultiva- 
tion. The  original  coast  line  once  coincided  with 
the  sand-reefs,  which  are  at  present  at  an  average 
distance  of  about  twenty  miles  from  the  shore — all 
between  them  and  the  ocean  is  the  result  of  floods 
and  vegetation.  It  has  generally  been  supposed 
that  this  deposit  is  entirely  due  to  floods,  but  that 
such  is  by  no  means  entirely  the  case  we  shall 
endeavour  to  show.  As  in  the  forest,  along  the 
banks  of  the  rivers  and  in  the  swamp,  plants  have 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  result  as  we  see  it, 
and  are  still  working  quietly  but  continually  for  the 
same  ends. 

As  certain  trees  have  been  developed  to  contend 

with  the  flood,  so  others  are  fitted  for  the  struggle 

239 


240  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

with  wind  and  wave.  In  some  respects  the  con- 
trivances are  similar,  but  here  on  the  coast  special 
arrangements  have  grown  up  which  seem  to  be  the 
result  of  long  experience.  Throughout  the  tropics 
the  same  species  are  extending  the  foreshores  and 
building  up  islands,  but  little  notice  has  been  taken 
of  their  work.  Therefore,  although  neither  Guiana 
nor  South  America  are  peculiar  in  this  respect,  yet 
they  are  such  grand  examples  as  to  be  well  worthy 
of  note.  From  the  great  delta  of  the  Orinoco  to 
that  of  the  Amazon,  the  courida  (Avicennia  nitida) 
and  mangrove  (Rhizophora  Manglier)  have  been 
utilising  the  floods  and  fighting  the  sea  for  ages, 
with  the  result  that  thousands  of  miles  of  land 
have  been  raised  mainly  by  their  efforts.  It  is 
true  that  mudbanks  would  have  been  formed 
without  their  aid,  but  every  one  knows  how 
unstable  these  are,  and  how  liable  to  continual 
shifting  from  tide  and  current. 

For  fifty  miles  or  more  from  the  coast  of  Guiana 
the  sea  is  tinged  by  the  thousands  of  tons  of  sus- 
pended matter  brought  down  from  mountain  and 
forest  by  the  great  rivers.  Part  of  this  is  a  veget- 
able infusion,  which  on  coming  in  contact  with 
salt  water  is  decomposed,  and  falls  to  the  bottom 
as  a  flocculent  precipitate  ;  the  remainder  clay  and 
fine  sand,  which  are  mostly  deposited  on  the  fore- 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  241 

shore.  In  addition  to  these  there  are  floating 
islands,  bushes  and  trunks  of  trees,  all  of  which  go 
to  help  in  collecting  the  other  deposits  and  binding 
them  together.  But  even  with  all  these  the  result 
would  probably  be  only  a  series  of  mudbanks  had 
not  the  courida  and  mangrove  come  to  the  rescue. 

The  courida,  which  was  confounded  with  the 
mangrove  by  old  writers  (who  represented  its 
fruit  as  falling  into  the  water  and  changing  into 
barnacle  geese),  is  perhaps  unique  in  its  contrivance 
for  making  islands  and  extending  muddy  shores. 
At  one  time  it  must  have  supported  itself  in  the 
ooze  by  aerial  roots,  which  probably,  like  those  of 
the  mangrove,  grew  out  from  the  trunk,  and 
extended  outwards  and  downwards  to  form  props 
or  buttresses.  That  this  was  certainly  the  case  is 
shown  by  excrescences  on  the  trunk,  which  throw 
out  extensions  that  hang  downwards  for  two  or 
three  feet  and  then  stop.  Even  did  they  reach  the 
mud  they  are  obviously  too  weak  to  be  of  much 
use,  but  when  we  appreciate  the  fact  that  they  are 
now  nothing  less  than  miniature  representations  of 
what  once  were  great  branching  extensions,  we  can 
easily  understand  their  original  purpose. 

Looking  closer,  we  can  also  observe  the  reason 
why  the  courida  no  longer  requires  such  buttresses. 

Let  us  walk  along  the  shore  at  low  water  and  enter 

16 


242  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

the  broad  fringe  of  trees,  which  stands  up  like  an 
advanced  guard,  and  extends  without  a  natural 
break  except  the  mouths  of  the  rivers  along  the 
whole  coast-line.  Like  the  forest  of  the  interior, 
it  is  dimly  lighted,  but,  unlike  it,  it  is  almost 
entirely  free  from  bush-ropes,  epiphytes,  and  para- 
sites. Now  and  again  we  come  across  a  mangrove, 
Laguncularia,  or  Thespesia  populnea,  but  the 
general  effect  is  monotonous,  as  might  be  expected 
from  the  want  of  variety.  Unlike  the  trees  of  the 
forest  proper,  the  courida  branches  considerably  all 
up  the  stem,  and  is  more  like  a  Lombardy  poplar 
than  a  canopied  giant  of  the  forest.  The  leaves 
are  thick,  and  of  a  dark  green  colour,  rather 
narrow,  and  comparatively  loose,  as  if  formed  to 
allow  the  wind  free  play.  Then,  again,  the  trunk, 
especially  when  young,  is  more  or  less  flexible,  the 
result  of  the  whole  being  that  the  tree  bends  rather 
than  breaks  even  when  exposed  to  the  roughest 
gale.  Unlike  so  many  other  trees  under  similar 
conditions,  it  does  not  bend  away  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  wind ;  nor  does  it,  like  the  cocoanut 
palm,  have  occasion  to  recover  itself  from  such  a 
position.1  Offering  little  resistance,  it  is  therefore 

1  When  this  palm  is  bent  backwards  by  the  wind  it  braces  itself 
and  turns  towards  it,  the  alternate  backward  and  forward  growth 
producing  that  wavy  stem  which  is  so  characteristic,  and  which  has 
been  accepted  by  artists  as  its  natural  shape.  See  chapter  xiii. 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  243 

well  fitted  for  a  struggle  with  the  air,  but  it  is 
against  the  water  that  it  has  developed  its  highest 
powers. 

Continuing  our  excursion  in  the  courida  bush, 
we  notice  that  although  walking  on  a  soft  ooze  our 
feet  hardly  sink  into  it.  Now  and  again  a  place  is 
softer  than  the  rest,  and  we  can  at  once  realise 
what  would  be  our  condition  were  the  whole 
surface  nothing  but  this  same  "  putta-putta,"  as  the 
negroes  call  it  Everywhere  at  the  mouths  of  the 
crab  holes  we  see  it  in  heaps,  and  if  we  should  be 
unfortunate  enough  to  step  into  it,  feel  at  once 
that  it  has  no  bottom.  The  crabs,  however,  find  it 
congenial  to  their  tastes,  for  they  are  here  by 
thousands,  their  scarlet  and  dark  blue  bodies  and 
long  arms,  with  which  they  apparently  beckon  to 
each  other,  enlivening  the  otherwise  dismal  shade. 
Again  we  wonder  why  the  ground  is  so  springy 
underneath,  and  look  down  for  the  reason,  but 
except  that  here  and  there  are  patches  of  upright 
pegs,  like  sticks  thrust  into  the  mud,  there  is 
nothing  but  an  even  surface.  Putting  a  foot  on 
one  of  these  sticks,  we  find  it  firm  but  elastic — it 
will  move  back  and  forth  but  not  downwards,  and 
return  again  to  its  first  position  when  the  pressure 
is  removed.  We  ask  ourselves  whatever  can  be 
the  use  of  these  things?  They  are  not  suckers 


244  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

neither  are  they  offshoots  from  the  roots — there  are 
neither  leaves  nor  leaf-buds  on  any  one  of  them. 
Looking  closely,  we  find  that  they  resemble  the 
aerial  roots  or  branches  of  figs  and  Pandanus,  but 
who  ever  heard  of  these  growing  upwards  ?  These 
latter  are  props  and  buttresses  to  keep  the  trees 
straight  and  prevent  their  falling ;  is  it  possible 
that  those  beneath  our  feet  are  also  intended  to 
help  the  courida  in  a  similar  way  ?  How  absurd  it 
appears  as  the  thought  flashes  through  our  mind  ! 
We  smile  at  the  idea  of  a  prop  rising  into  the  air 
with  nothing  to  arrest  its  progress  or  serve  as  a 
point  d'appui.  Then,  again,  all  these  pegs  are  on 
about  the  same  level,  and  rise  but  a  few  inches 
above  the  surface.  Yet  they  may  be  considered 
from  one  standpoint  as  only  buttresses  of  a  more 
perfect  type  than  those  of  the  mangrove. 

How  can  we  prove  this  ?  Not  by  remaining  in 
the  depths  of  this  great  plantation,  but  by  walking 
along  the  shore  when  the  tide  is  low.  In  many 
places  this  is  virtually  impossible  on  account  of  the 
ooze,  but  here  and  there  the  stronger  currents 
deposit  banks  of  sand,  on  which  we  can  walk  with- 
out difficulty.  Now  we  can  see  exactly  how  the 
roots  of  the  courida  are  matted  and  interlaced  one 
with  another,  and  what  a  revelation  it  is  !  What  a 
perfect  breakwater  this  is — a  fascine  dam  which 


ON  TH£  SEA-SHORE.  245 

never  rots,  but  goes  on  from  day  to  day,  becoming 
more  and  more  perfect  as  the  waves  wrestle  with 
it.  To  the  naturalist  the  picture  is  one  which 
brings  the  struggle  most  vividly  before  his  eyes. 
For  days  and  weeks,  perhaps,  this  confused  layer 
of  roots  has  been  covering  itself  with  mud  and  silt, 
until  hardly  a  fibre  can  be  seen.  Then  comes  the 
spring  tide  with  a  strong  wind,  which  washes  away 
almost  everything,  leaving  it  open  to  sun  and  wind. 
Any  other  tree  would  be  at  least  scotched,  if  not 
killed,  by  such  a  catastrophe,  but  not  the  courida. 
He  stands  up  as  bold  as  before,  confidently  trusting 
that  the  great  mat  will  always  lie  upon  the  mud 
whether  it  be  covered  or  bare.  The  high  tide  will 
soon  recede,  and  the  work  of  gathering  silt  be 
renewed.  It  will  be  seen  from  the  illustration  how 
beautifully  fitted  is  this  living  mat  to  collect  and 
hold  whatever  floats  in  the  water,  but  as  if  this 
were  not  enough,  we  have  those  curious  peg-like 
aerial  roots,  which  are  a  host  in  themselves.  Where 
the  roots  have  been  bent  and  twisted  they  are 
naturally  somewhat  confused,  but  near  still  water 
they  rise  like  a  miniature  forest  of  bare  stems. 
This  is  beautifully  illustrated  in  the  view  taken 
beside  the  draining  canal  of  a  plantation.  Here 
there  is  little  opportunity  for  collecting  silt,  and 
therefore  the  pegs  are  almost  bare,  but  inside  the 


246  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

courida  bush  they  can  never  be  seen  in  this  state, 
but  only  peeping  from  the  mud  for  an  inch  or  two 
here  and  there.  It  can  be  easily  understood  that 
when  every  crevice  between  the  tangle  of  roots  is 
filled  with  mud  and  layers  of  the  same  are  held 
together  by  the  pegs,  the  tree  is  so  weighted  down 
as  to  be  able  to  defy  every  wind  that  blows,  and 
say  to  the  waves,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  come,  but 
no  farther." 

Notwithstanding  all  its  precautions,  however,  its 
victory  often  recoils  upon  itself.  Year  after  year 
it  goes  on  extending  farther  and  farther,  reclaiming 
acres  of  mud  flat  from  the  raging  waters,  until 
perhaps  a  headland  is  produced  which  forms  a 
great  obstruction  to  some  particular  current.  Then 
ensues  a  greater  struggle  than  ever.  The  north- 
east wind  comes  at  a  time  when  the  tide  is  at  its 
highest,  dashes  the  waves  against  the  barrier,  they 
undermine  it,  drag  away  one  great  mat  of  roots  after 
another,  and  again  flow  past  where  was  once  the  little 
cape.  But,  even  then  the  courida  has  the  best  of  it, 
for  rarely  does  it  happen  that  the  sea  recovers  all  it 
has  lost  and  the  general  result  is  something  added 
to  the  muddy  fore-shore.  Again,  there  are  times 
when,  notwithstanding  all  their  exertions,  the  waves 
do  not  succeed  in  removing  the  barrier,  and  then 
they  have  to  take  themselves  off  to  some  other 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  247 

quarter  where  the  dam  is  weaker.  Perhaps  the 
manager  of  a  plantation  has  cut  down  his  advanced 
guard  to  admit  the  pleasant  breeze  and  cool  his 
verandah.  Here  is  an  opportunity  for  vengeance, 
and  soon  the  masses  of  dead  roots  are  carried  off 
wholesale,  the  mud  dam  is  washed  away,  and  the 
front  of  the  estate  flooded  with  sea  water.  When 
such  an  opening  does  not  occur  the  current  goes  on 
looking  for  the  weakest  point  in  the  long  line. 
Woe  betide  the  courida  if  it  be  not  prepared ;  it 
is  lifted  up,  carried  away  bodily,  and  dashed  to 
pieces  by  the  waves.  Even  yet,  however,  the 
courida  may  have  kept  guard  so  well  that  all  the 
efforts  of  the  raging  current  cannot  find  the  smallest 
opening.  Then  it  goes  scouring  along  the  coast, 
deepening  a  channel  here,  filling  up  another  there, 
now  taking  a  foot  off  a  sand-bank  which  was  dry 
at  low  water,  and  then  throwing  its  tons  of  suspended 
matter  aside  to  form  the  nucleus  of  an  island,  to 
the  utter  consternation  of  the  pilots  whose  calcula- 
tions are  upset  by  the  catastrophe. 

Perhaps  our  readers  may  think  we  are  going  too 
far  in  ascribing  all  this  to  the  work  of  the  courida, 
but  we  can  assure  them  that  such  things  are  con- 
tinually happening  here,  and  that  they  are  primarily 
due  to  this  wonderful  tree  admits  of  no  dispute. 
How  often  an  estates  manager  has  had  to  rue  the 


248  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

day  on  which  he  cut  down  the  living  barrier  which 
obstructed  his  view  of  the  sea,  is  hard  to  tell,  but 
that  many  have  suffered  on  this  account  is  certain. 
It  would  not  be  difficult  to  collect  the  details  and 
show  how  the  front  lands  of  sugar  plantations  have 
been  flooded,  the  canes  destroyed  by  salt  water,  and 
thousands  of  pounds  spent  in  repairing  the  damage 
— all  perhaps  from  thinning  (and  thus  weakening) 
the  living  barrier. 

We  shall  not,  however,  go  into  these  details,  but 
proceed  to  show  how  the  courida  builds  up  islands 
and  how  quickly  this  is  done.  A  century  ago  the 
east  coast  of  Demerara  was  drained  by  a  creek 
which  had  its  exit  near  what  is  now  the  sugar 
plantation  Lusignan.  At  that  time  there  were  no 
estates  in  this  district — the  drainage  was  nature's 
work,  and  she  did  it  in  a  way  entirely  suitable  to 
the  conditions  then  existing.  A  little  later,  how- 
ever, one  plantation  arose  after  another,  each  with 
its  drainage  canals  to  carry  off  the  water  from  its 
own  area.  It  naturally  followed  that  the  Coura- 
banna  Creek  became  diminished  in  its  volume  of 
water  as  well  as  in  its  velocity,  with  the  result  "that 
it  could  no  longer  contend  with  the  banks  of  mud 
thrown  up  by  the  tide  at  its  mouth.  Soon  an 
extensive  bar  was  formed,  and  later  this  rose  to 
the  surface  and  became  a  mudbank,  forcing  the 


ON  THE  SEA-SHOKE.  249 

waters  of  the  creek  to  pass  round  on  either  side. 
The  eddy  between  these  two  streams  allowed  more 
and  more  silt  to  deposit  until  a  fairly  large  bank 
was  formed  which  became  exposed  at  low  water. 
Then  came  the  courida,  whose  seeds  were  floating 
everywhere  and  had  been  washed  over  the  bank 
times  out  of  number  without  securing  a  foot-hold. 
Now,  however,  a  few  of  them  plunged  their  roots 
into  the  mud  when  the  tide  was  slack  for  a  few 
days,  and  held  their  own  against  the  next  springs. 
A  commencement  had  been  made,  the  seedlings 
grew  to  bushes,  the  bushes  to  trees,  and  soon  a 
little  grove  was  established,  which  continually 
extended  itself  as  the  island  became  larger.  By 
and  by  it  became  more  than  a  mile  long,  and  the 
divided  outlet  of  the  creek  was  known  under  the 
two  names  of  Great  and  Little  Courabanna.  These, 
of  course,  imply  the  fact  that  one  was  of  more 
importance  than  the  other,  and  as  the  weakest 
always  goes  to  the  wall,  it  was  not  long  before 
the  courida  crossed  over  to  the  mainland  and 
obliterated  the  smaller  creek.  Thus  the  island 
became  a  cape,  and  was  known  as  Courabanna 
Point,  or  Point  Spirit.  As  more  plantations  were 
laid  out,  less  and  less  water  came  down  the  creek, 
obstructions  of  various  kinds  were  formed,  and 
soon  after  the  beginning  of  this  century  the  creek 


2$o  M  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

was  obliterated,  and  is  now  entirely  gone,  leaving 
only  what  is  called  Lusignan  Point  to  indicate  its 
former  site.  Whether  this  little  headland  is  on  the 
exact  spot  where  the  coast  pilot  once  recognised 
Courabanna  Point  is  doubtful,  as  these  headlands 
are  continually  changing  in  the  struggle  between 
wave  and  courida,  but  although  perhaps  the  pilot 
might  dispute  its  identity,  it  is  as  much  the  same 
as  any  other  part  of  the  coast  can  be  after  such 
work  has  been  going  on  for  a  century,  or  even  fifty 
years. 

How  important  these  changes  are  will  be  under- 
stood when  we  state  that  the  twenty  miles  of  coast 
between  the  Demerara  River  and  the  Mahaica 
Creek  was  once  well  known  under  the  name  of  the 
Courabanna  District.  But  it  could  easily  happen 
that  most  important  issues  might  depend  on  the 
existence  or  non-existence  of  such  a  creek.  When 
the  colony  of  Berbice  was  settled,  the  boundary 
line  with  Surinam  was  fixed  at  the  Devil's  Creek, 
about  midway  between  the  Berbice  and  Corentyne 
Rivers.  That  creek  has  gone  the  same  way  as  the 
Courabanna,  and  it  would  be  very  difficult  to 
indicate  its  mouth,  much  more  its  channel,  at  the 
present  day.  Fortunately,  however,  the  Governor 
of  Berbice  in  1799,  when  both  colonies  were  in 
possession  of  Great  Britain,  made  an  arrangement 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  251 

with  his  confrere  in  Surinam  to  make  the  great 
river  Corentyne  the  boundary,  and  this  arrange- 
ment having  been  retained  when  Surinam  was 
restored  to  the  Dutch,  a  great  difficulty  and 
possible  occasion  of  a  boundary  dispute  have  been 
obviated.  It  is  easy  to  conceive  from  this  how 
important  is  the  struggle  between  the  sea  and  the 
courida  if  our  readers  were  not  convinced  by  the 
apparently  wild  statements  made  a  few  pages  back. 
However,  we  have  not  yet  finished  the  story 
of  this  marvellous  tree.  At  the  beginning  of  this 
century  the  charts  of  the  mouth  of  the  River 
Essequebo  showed  a  bank  of  "  hard  sand,  dry  at 
low  water,"  to  the  east  of  Leguan  Island.  This 
place  continued  as  a  sandbank  for  over  sixty 
years — how  long  it  had  been  in  existence  before  is 
doubtful, but  we  may  safely  state  that  it  could  hardly 
have  been  less  than  a  century  altogether,  and 
from  all  appearances  it  might  remain  in  the  same 
condition  for  as  long  again.  About  the  year  1862, 
however,  an  estates  schooner,  named  the  Dauntless, 
was  wrecked  on  this  Leguan  Bank,  partly  broken 
up  and  embedded  in  the  sand,  where  its  presence 
was  shown  by  a  slight  elevation,  and  one  or  two 
ribs  sticking  out  above  the  surface.  These  jagged 
points  arrested  a  few  pieces  of  the  tangle  which 
came  down  the  river,  and  on  this  were  deposited 


2$2  /AT  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

some  seed  of  the  courida.  Then  began  the  work 
of  building  up  an  island  which  to-day  is  about  two 
miles  long  by  one  broad,  and  is  known  on  the  chart 
as  Dauntless  Island. 

When  we  see  the  magnificent  results  of  Nature's 
operations  our  own  feeble  efforts  seem  reduced  to 
almost  nothingness.  True,  we  may  go  to  her 
school  and  learn  a  thousand  lessons,  by  the  carry- 
ing out  of  which  we  may  attain  some  measure  of 
success.  But  where  can  we  find  such  a  perfect 
example  of  combination  as  is  shown  by  this  grand 
line  of  sea  defences.  Even  the  dams  and  dykes  of 
the  Hollander  sink  into  insignificance  before  it. 
But  here,  as  in  the  forest  proper,  Nature's  opera- 
tions can  only  be  thoroughly  understood  when  care- 
fully investigated  from  a  thousand  points  of  view, 
and  when  even  what  appear  to  us  the  merest  trifles 
are  taken  into  account. 

Leaving  the  courida  we  must  now  enter  the 
mouths  of  the  river  and  admire  the  work  of  the 
mangrove.  We  have  already  stated  that  it  is  found 
here  and  there  in  the  courida  bush,  but  to  investi- 
gate it  properly  we  must  go  a  few  miles  up  one  of  the 
larger  streams.  Here  the  banks  are  almost  entirely 
lined  with  its  apparently  inextricably  confused 
jungle  of  buttresses.  We  can  walk  in  the  courida 
bush,  but  not  in  the  mangrove  swamp.  Here  is 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  253 

no  springy  mat  lying  upon  the  mud,  but  every 
forking  aerial  root  strikes  downward,  spreading  a 
little  it  is  true  as  it  reaches  the  mud,  but  leaving 
almost  bottomless  mud  holes  between.  The  only 
possible  means  of  getting  through  such  a  jungle 
is  by  crawling  from  one  arched  buttress  to  another 
at  the  risk  of  continual  slips,  and  with  a  result 
which  is  only  describable  as  being  "up  to  your 
eyes  in  mud." 

Unlike  the  courida,  the  mangrove  does  not 
attempt  to  keep  back  the  water — it  seems  to 
know  that  any  attempt  of  the  kind  would  not 
only  be  rash,  but  sure  to  end  in  its  destruction. 
When  the  floods  come  to  meet  the  tide  there  is 
such  a  churning  that  it  would  seem  impossible  for 
anything  to  stand  in  the  way,  yet  the  mangrove 
remains  securely  at  anchor.  To  do  this,  however, 
it  has  had  to  give  up  all  the  traditions  and  examples 
of  other  trees,  and  live  without  a  body  or  trunk. 
True,  there  is  a  main  stem,  but  it  is  very  small  in 
proportion  to  the  spread  of  branches,  and  is  hardly 
distinguishable  from  the  larger  buttresses  which 
extend  outward  and  downward  like  the  long  legs 
of  a  spider  without  its  bloated  abdomen.  Like  the 
trunk  of  the  courida,  these  buttresses  are  some- 
what elastic,  and  are  thus  able  to  stand  the  turmoil 
of  a  flood,  when,  if  they  were  at  all  brittle,  they 


254  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

would  be  broken  in  pieces.  It  may  be  easily  seen 
that  with  this  contrivance  the  mangrove  hardly 
offers  any  opposition  to  the  flood,  but  allows  it  to 
flow  freely  through  its  maze  of  roots.  If  a  floating 
island  should  be  entangled  in  its  meshes  when 
coming  down  the  river,  it  is  generally  set  free 
when  the  tide  rises,  as  there  are  no  thorns  or 
protuberances  of  any  kind  upon  the  buttresses  or 
branches.  The  result  is  that  whether  the  water 
be  high  or  low  the  tree  remains  quite  comfortable, 
and  lets  the  fishes  play  about  its  props  to  their 
hearts'  content.  As  it  does  not  rise  to  any  great 
height  it  is  equally  safe  in  the  strongest  gale,  as 
there  is  absolutely  nothing  to  overthrow.  Even  if 
we  could  conceive  of  its  being  uprooted  and  carried 
away,  the  result  would  be  simply  transplanting  to 
another  spot. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  thing  about  the 
mangrove  is  its  fruit.  The  radicle  commences  to 
grow  while  the  seed  is  still  attached  to  the  branch, 
and  before  it  drops  is  generally  a  foot  or  more  in 
length.  Like  great  spike-nails,  clubbed  and  pointed 
at  the  lower  end,  they  hang  straight  downwards, 
ready  when  the  time  comes  to  drop  and  stick 
themselves  upright  in  the  mud.  Then  they  sprout 
above  and  penetrate  the  mud  with  their  roots,  after 
which  they  quickly  rise  and  throw  out  their  charac- 


ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.  255 

teristic  buttresses.  Here  we  have  a  suggestion  of 
the  pile  so  well  known  in  connection  with  bridge 
building.  However  ancient  the  lake  dwellers  may 
have  been,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  man- 
grove learnt  this  little  bit  of  engineering  long 
before  them.  Then,  in  the  cluster  of  sprawling  but- 
tresses we  have  the  same  contrivance  which  is  used 
to  support  beacons,  and  here  also  the  tree  was  first 
in  the  field.  The  contrivance  of  the  courida  is  a 
fascine  dam  far  more  perfect  than  anything  erected 
by  man,  as  it  cannot  decay.  When  a  man  invents 
a  thing  of  this  kind  we  honour  him  for  his  ingenuity; 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  tree  ? 

We  must  not  leave  the  mangrove  and  courida 
swamp  without  calling  attention  to  the  fact  that 
very  few  plants  can  endure  salt  water  about  their 
roots  for  even  a  few  hours  without  serious  injury. 
Besides  the  two  species  we  have  been  considering, 
there  are,  however,  several  others  all  more  or  less 
fitted  to  the  shore.  The  most  conspicuous  is  the 
Laguncularia,  which  assists  the  courida,  but  is  not 
so  highly  developed ;  after  that  we  may  mention 
the  handsome  Thespesia  populnea  with  its  hibiscus- 
like  flowers.  Beyond  these  the  number  that  revel 
in  salt  water  is  small,  and  for  this  reason  we  do 
not  get  that  variety  in  the  courida  bush  which  is 
so  conspicuous  in  the  forest  proper.  It  is  such  a 


256  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

radical  change  in  the  economy  of  a  vegetable  to 
alter  its  assimilative  arrangements  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  can  be  easily  understood  what  enormous 
efforts  must  have  been  put  forth  before  this  took 
place.  We  believe  that  no  great  tree  has  succeeded 
in  a  similar  way  in  temperate  climes,  although  a 
few  shrubs  and  herbaceous  plants  have  been  more 
fortunate. 


A   TERMINALIA   OVER-RUN    BY    LORANTHS. 


To  face  p.  257. 


XIV. 

IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN. 

IN  striking  contrast  with  the  plants  of  the  forest 
those  of  our  fields  and  gardens  appear  but  poor 
weaklings.  For  centuries  they  have  been  more  or 
less  fostered  with,  at  least  from  nature's  point  of 
view,  very  sad  results.  The  forest  giants  have 
become  strong  and  able  to  endure  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  weather,  to  hold  their  own  in  the  struggle 
with  others  of  the  same  species  as  well  as  a  host 
of  animal  and  vegetable  enemies,  while  the  more 
delicate  fruit  trees  under  cultivation  can  do  nothing 
without  the  fostering  hand  of  man.  True,  we  bring 
together  a  host  of  beauties  from  a  hundred  different 
environments,  and  manage  to  keep  them  alive  with 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  care,  but  they  are  never 
so  interesting  as  when  in  their  native  habitats ;  and, 
although  some  thrive  well,  what  a  great  number 
merely  vegetate.  They  cannot  endure  the  flood  or 
drought,  but  must  be  watered,  or  the  land  on  which 

17  257 


258  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

they  are  grown  well  drained.  Few  have  made  any 
provision  against  the  blood-sucking  loranths  or 
scale-insects,  and  consequently  suffer  much,  hardly 
ever  succeeding  in  throwing  them  off  without 
assistance.  Those  which  have  been  in  cultivation 
for  long  periods  are  especially  weak,  while  others 
coming  from  a  different  environment  have  never 
had  the  same  pests  to  contend  with,  and  are  there- 
fore unfitted  to  their  new  surroundings.  The 
loranths  seem  to  know  this,  and  flourish  in  the 
utmost  luxuriance  among  their  branches,  killing 
them  very  quickly  if  man  does  not  interfere.  The 
number  of  mango  trees,  for  example,  in  the  city 
of  Georgetown  and  its  vicinity  which  are  always 
suffering  from  the  attacks  of  a  pretty  stellate  scale 
and  a  fungus  like  the  well-known  London  "  blacks  " 
is  enormous.  Which  comes  first  in  the  field  is 
doubtful,  but,  speaking  generally,  we  think  the 
disease  commences  with  a  general  weakness  of  the 
whole  tree.  Then  probably  comes  the  scale  insect, 
fastening  itself  on  the  under  side  of  the  leaf,  and 
increasing  the  debility  until  a  state  of  general 
ill-health  is  produced.  Finally  the  fungus  covers 
the  upper  surface  with  its  black  film,  which  here 
and  there  peels  off  and  hangs  down  in  a  most 
ragged  and  unsightly  manner.  The  tree  struggles 
to  get  rid  of  its  tormentors,  and  perhaps,  if  it  could 


IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN.  259 

strip  itself  entirely  for  a  few  months,  would  succeed. 
But  no ;  it  can  only  drop  its  leaves  a  little  sooner 
than  usual,  and  bring  out  new  ones  to  be  quickly 
covered  like  the  others. 

The  Barbados  cherry,  like  the  mango,  is  a 
foreigner  in  British  Guiana.  It  is  one  of  the 
strongest  shrubs  in  our  gardens,  and  is  commonly 
used  for  hedges.  So  rampant  is  it  in  its  growth 
that  it  bears  cutting  to  almost  any  extent.  You 
look  at  it  closely,  but  can  find  no  signs  of  weak- 
ness, and  would  expect  it  to  be  free  from  the 
attacks  of  the  mango  pest,  and  would  be  right. 
But  everywhere  about  our  gardens  is  the  deadly 
loranth,  and  the  cherry  falls  an  easy  victim  from 
its  very  luxuriance.  A  dry,  hard,  and  juiceless 
tree  would  be  of  little  use  to  such  a  blood-sucker ; 
it  likes  those  that  are  fat.  The  more  sap  the  longer 
the  bush  or  tree  can  stand  the  continual  depletion, 
and  this  is  well  exemplified  now.  As  the  loranth 
winds  its  aerial  roots  round  branch  after  branch, 
and  applies  its  sucking  disks  one  after  another,  you 
see  the  little  plant  grow  bigger  and  bigger,  until  it 
covers  and  obliterates  its  victim  altogether.  Mean- 
while, however,  to  escape  destruction,  it  takes  firm 
hold  of  a  neighbour  and  repeats  the  same  operation 
with  that  also.  It  naturally  follows  that  in  many 
cases  it  comes  to  the  ground,  but  meanwhile  it  has 


260  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

ripened  thousands  of  fruit,  which  the  birds  have 
carried  far  and  wide,  so  that  its  progeny  is  almost 
certain  to  be  numerous. 

The  fiddle-wood  tree  (Citharexylon)  is  commonly 
cultivated  for  its  deliciously-scented  white  flowers, 
the  perfume  of  which  is  diffused  for  long  distances 
in  the  evening.  Like  most  white  flowers,  it  is 
fertilised  by  the  agency  of  a  moth,  which  is 
attracted  by  the  powerful  odour  in  great  numbers. 
Its  leaves  are  delicate  as  compared  with  so  many 
others  that  are  either  hard  and  dry,  or  thick  and 
leathery,  and  are  therefore  more  subject  to  the 
attacks  of  larvae.  It  appears  that  the  same  moth 
which  fertilises  the  flowers  also  deposits  its  eggs  on 
the  leaves,  with  the  result  that  in  a  few  days  after 
these  are  hatched  the  tree  is  actually  stripped  bare. 
As  a  rule,  however,  it  puts  out  all  its  energies, 
covers  its  branches  with  new  foliage,  and  by  the 
time  the  moth  emerges  is  covered  with  flowers 
which  afford  nectar  for  its  enemy  or  friend.  Which 
of  these  two  names  the  moth  should  bear  is  almost 
as  difficult  a  question  as  any  brought  before  a 
debating  club,  as  in  the  larval  state  it  is  undoubtedly 
a  pest,  while  later  it  is  just  as  certainly  an  indispen- 
sable helper.  Probably  as  a  friend  it  does  most 
good,  for  after  all  nothing  is  so  essential  to  the 
continuity  of  the  species  as  the  production  of  seed. 


IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN.  261 

Even  if  the  tree  should  ultimately  die  of  the  strain 
produced  by  several  strippings,  it  matters  little 
from  nature's  point  of  view,  although  the  loss  of 
one  of  the  line  may  spoil  the  appearance  of  an 
avenue. 

In  our  gardens  we  have  some  very  handsome 
so-called  lilies.  There  is  the  Hippeastrum  equestre, 
Crinums,  Pancratiums,  and  the  well-known  Eucharis 
Amazonica.  Some  of  these  are  well  known  in 
Europe,  but  there,  even  if  they  were  subject  to  the 
attacks  of  larvae,  moths  cannot  get  into  the  glass 
houses.  Here,  however,  it  is  different,  and  the  poor 
plants  suffer  much  from  their  attacks.  The  perfect 
insec'  lays  its  eggs  on  the  under  surface  of  their 
leaves,  and,  if  the  gardener  does  not  search  for 
them,  some  fine  (or  wet)  morning  you  see  your 
beautiful  plants  turned  into  perfect  wrecks.  Hun- 
dreds of  ugly  worms  are  crawling  over  them,  their 
leaves  are  nothing  but  thin  membrane,  and  hang 
down  in  rags,  while,  if  you  have  not  discovered 
them  within  two  or  three  days  after  they  are 
hatched,  it  is  almost  certain  that  one  or  more  have 
penetrated  the  bulb  and  are  eating  out  its  very 
heart.  We  have  never  seen  destruction  like  this 
among  these  plants  under  natural  conditions.  Why, 
then,  should  it  be  so  common  in  our  gardens  ?  This 
is  a  question  which  might  be  asked  of  several  other 


262  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

plants,  but  hitherto  we  have  been  unable  to  find  a 
satisfactory  answer. 

Nevertheless,  from  the  very  fact  that  we  are  not 
successful  in  preserving  our  gardens  from  the  many 
pests  which  ravage  them,  they  are  all  the  more 
interesting  to  the  naturalist.  A  greenhouse,  where 
everything  looks  clean  and  tidy,  may  be  more 
pleasant  from  one  point  of  view,  but  if  we  want 
to  understand  the  true  meaning  of  the  struggle 
for  existence  we  must  carefully  observe  what  is 
going  on  in  the  tropical  garden.  When  we  shut 
up  our  beauties  in  glass  houses,  even  if  the  insects 
and  seeds  of  parasites  are  to  be  found  outside,  they 
cannot  enter  to  disturb  the  plants.  Here,  however, 
in  the  open,  every  little  difficulty  and  trouble  is 
patent,  and  even  when  we  do  our  very  best  to  help 
them  they  often  suffer. 

A  well-laid-out  garden  is  no  doubt  very  pleasant 
to  the  eyes,  but  after  all  there  is  always  more  or 
less  of  the  artificial  element  introduced.  We  trim 
and  prune  until  often  every  bush  and  tree  grows  in 
an  unnatural  shape,  dwarfed,  stunted,  or  lop-sided. 
Even  the  removal  of  parasites  entails  more  or  less 
deformity,  as  we  cut  away  a  branch  because  the 
loranths  have  taken  possession  of  it,  or  spoil  the 
shape  of  a  palm  to  destroy  the  scale  insects.  Then, 
again,  if  we  do  not  want  our  best  specimens 


IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN.  263 

smothered  by  the  more  hardy  and  rampant  trees, 
shrubs,  and  especially  climbers,  these  latter  must 
be  hacked  about  here  and  there  until  they  become 
quite  deformed.  This  is  the  great  fault  of  a  tropical 
garden.  When  it  is  laid  out  with  a  number  of 
pretty  shrubs  the  owner  never  seems  to  think  that 
many  of  these  will  grow  to  great  trees,  and  in  doing 
so  smother  the  rest.  At  first  the  beds  of  crotons, 
hibiscus,  and  other  foliage  and  flowering  plants  can 
be  looked  down  upon  as  we  walk  in  the  garden ;  a 
few  months  hence  they  will  be  above  our  heads, 
and,  if  not  trimmed,  form  a  great  thicket.  Instead 
of  rooting  up  the  majority  to  make  room,  almost 
every  one  gets  mutilated,  with  the  result  that 
hardly  a  single  shrub  or  tree  is  anything  but 
unsightly  to  a  lover  of  nature.  This  is  carried 
out  almost  everywhere,  so  that  even  public  gardens 
offend  the  eye  by  a  crowd  of  deformities.  This  is 
entirely  apart  from  the  display  of  bad  taste  in 
cutting  shrubs  into  outlandish  shapes — fortunately 
that  is  not  very  common — which  shows  simply  the 
want  of  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  there  is  as 
much  real  beauty  in  natural  form  as  in  colour. 

To  us  the  wild  garden  is  far  more  beautiful  and 
interesting.  Here  we  see  every  one  at  work 
straining  to  get  ahead,  some  losing  ground  as  the 
others  overtop  them,  but  nevertheless  doing  their 


264  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

level  best  to  exist  and  even  thrive  in  the  midst  of 
the  greatest  difficulties.  Here  also  every  flower 
and  fruit  is  seen  at  its  best,  and,  if  the  plants  are 
native  to  the  country,  many  a  rare  insect  and  bird 
is  attracted  to  the  little  bit  of  jungle.  For,  such 
will  ultimately  be  the  character  of  the  place  if  left 
alone,  only  varying  according  to  the  species  of 
plants  first  brought  into  it. 

The  first  scene  in  the  great  struggle  is  the  fight 
with  weeds.  Throughout  the  tropics  every  piece 
of  cultivated  land  is  infested  with  these.  Unlike 
the  more  delicate  garden  plants,  they  are  sturdy  and 
strong,  suited  to  many  places  and  circumstances 
instead  of  one,  and  therefore  better  able  to  live  in 
the  garden  than  those  you  have  planted.  Only 
natives  are  able  to  contend  successfully  with  them, 
and  you  will  have  to  help  the  weaklings  at  the 
commencement.  It  will  not  be  amiss,  however,  to 
watch  the  struggle  before  destroying  them  entirely, 
as  they  not  only  fight  with  your  pets,  but  also 
among  themselves.  Some  are  armed  with  prickles 
and  spines,  others  with  down  and  bristles,  while 
a  few  of  the  less  unsightly  are  enabled  to  carry  on 
the  struggle  by  means  of  tough  roots,  rhizomes,  and 
tubers,  which  endure  alternations  of  wet  and  dry 
as  well  as  defy  the  continual  use  of  the  hoe.  They 
may  be  scotched  but  never  killed  by  the  gardener 


IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN.  265 

—only  the  smothering  of  the  trees  can  eradicate 
them  entirely.  The  others  live  by  perfecting  their 
flowers  and  seeds  very  quickly,  so  that  when  the 
parent  is  destoyed  the  children  are  ready  to  come 
to  the  front  at  every  opportunity.  Like  so  many 
weeds  all  over  the  world,  they  have  a  thousand 
contrivances  for  scattering  their  seed.  The  Ruellia 
tuberosa  generally  comes  to  the  front  in  dry 
weather,  when  it  produces  its  handsome  blue 
flowers  and  capsules.  These  capsules  are  so 
sensitive  to  moisture  that  when  the  rains  fall 
they  open  suddenly  and  shoot  the  seeds  to  some 
distance.  Other  plants  have  hooked  capsules,  by 
means  of  which  they  cling  to  the  fur  of  animals 
and  are  often  carried  away  for  miles  ;  while  a  third 
class  provide  plumes  to  their  seeds,  which  enable 
them  to  float  upon  the  wind.  But,  above  every- 
thing else,  the  grasses  are  most  rampant.  One  of 
the  commonest  in  gardens  is  the  bahama  grass 
(Cynodon  dactylon),  which  is  almost  the  only  kind 
suitable  for  lawns.  This,  however,  is  unable  to 
endure  much  moisture,  and  therefore  when  the 
heavy  rains  fall,  unless  the  soil  is  very  light  and 
well-drained,  it  suffers  greatly.  Then,  it  is  gradually 
ousted  by  the  Paspalum  compressum,  which 
spreads  its  leaves  almost  flat,  and  continually 
extends  outward,  smothering  everything  in  its 


266  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

way.  Even  this  species,  however,  can  hardly 
endure  sodden  ground,  although  it  changes  its 
habit  and  grows  upright  in  very  wet  weather,  but 
has  to  give  way  to  the  monarch  of  the  roadside 
and  the  estates  dam,  Paspalum  conjugatum — the 
sour  grass.  This  monster  is  at  the  top  of  the  tree 
as  far  as  endurance  is  concerned,  although  it  is 
suppressed  to  a  certain  extent  during  a  drought. 
Unlike  the  two  others  we  have  mentioned,  which 
are  eagerly  devoured  by  horses  and  cattle,  this  is 
disliked  even  by  the  goat.  In  a  congenial  season 
it  effaces  every  other  weed,  rising  to  a  height  of 
two  or  three  feet,  and  extending  even  into  the 
public  roads.  In  the  garden  it  indicates  bad 
drainage,  and  will  flourish  at  all  times  if  undis- 
turbed, but  on  the  roadside  it  becomes  much 
reduced  during  the  dry  season.  Nevertheless,  by 
means  of  its  multitude  of  seeds  and  creeping  habit, 
it  again  comes  to  the  front  in  a  few  weeks  after  the 
rains,  to  be  heartily  abused  by  the  stock-breeder 
as  something  not  only  useless,  but  offensive. 

As  the  bushes  and  trees  in  your  garden  begin  to 
spread  they  gradually  shut  out  the  light  from 
everything  below  until  not  a  single  weed  can  come 
to  anything,  and  now  that  they  have  succeeded  in 
gaining  their  first  victory  they  begin  the  fight  with 
each  other.  Some  are  already  seen  to  be  the 


IN  THE  TROPICAL  GARDEN.  267 

weaker,  and  these,  having  once  lost  their  places, 
must  ultimately  die  if  left  without  assistance. 
Then  come  the  creeping  and  scrambling  vines. 
You  thought  to  have  a  fine  collection  of  bignonias 
and  convolvuli,  so  that  humming-birds,  bees,  and 
moths  might  be  invited  to  the  garden.  Already 
this  effect  has  been  produced,  and  sitting  down  in 
the  midst  of  the  hum  of  insect  life  you  think  how 
pleasant  is  the  scene.  You  take  care  not  to 
disturb  anything,  but  let  the  creepers  wander  at 
their  own  sweet  will  to  bring  these  winged  visitors. 
But  the  young  trees  do  not  find  it  quite  so  agree- 
able. A  mighty  scrambler  has  reached  forward 
one  extension  after  another  until  it  has  hung 
a  flowery  pall  over  one  of  them,  and  is  now 
stretching  out  towards  others.  In  vain  does  the 
tree  push  its  young  branches  through  this  covering, 
they  also  are  quickly  hid,  and  if  you  do  not  come 
to  its  assistance  it  will  ultimately  die.  If  it  is  an 
ornamental  flowering  or  fruit  tree  the  effect  of  this 
exclusion  of  sunlight  soon  shows  itself  in  the 
unhealthy  appearance  of  the  foliage,  and  the  want 
of  flowers  with  their  consequent  fruit. 

If  left  alone  these  scramblers  extend  over  the 
whole  garden,  covering  everything,  and  ultimately 
killing  all  that  come  within  their  shade,  except 
perhaps  the  palms,  which  push  through  and  throw 


268  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

them  off  as  they  ascend.  This  you  do  not  want, 
and  must  therefore  give  them  a  judicious  trimming 
now  and  again.  This  can  be  done  without  mutila- 
tion or  spoiling  the  effect  of  your  interesting  wild 
garden,  which  becomes  a  centre  where  birds  build 
their  nests  in  the  trees,  bats  hang  themselves  under 
the  dense  climbers,  marabuntas  affix  their  bag-like 
homes  in  the  branches,  and  a  hundred  species  of 
ants  are  at  work  everywhere.  Here  also  a  few 
harmless  snakes  are  sure  to  lurk,  and  with  the 
lizards  help  to  make  the  garden  an  epitome  of 
almost  everything,  and  a  little  world  in  itself 
You  may  quietly  study  the  fertilisation  of  flowers, 
and  watch  the  whole  process ;  see  the  ants  attack 
and  defeat  great  larvae  and  cochroaches  ;  observe 
the  mantis  spring  forward  from  its  apparently 
devout  position  and  clutch  the  fly  which  has  come 
within  its  reach  ;  and  feel  as  if  you  are  one  of  these 
instead  of  looking  down  upon  them  all  with  scorn 
and  contempt.  The  snakes,  spiders,  and  larvae, 
are  no  longer  repulsive,  but  creatures  most  beauti- 
fully formed,  and  as  much  entitled  to  live  as 
yourself. 


XV. 
MAWS  FOOTPRINTS. 

PERHAPS  the  most  striking  peculiarity  of  the 
Guiana  forest  is  its  almost  entire  freedom  from 
man's  handiwork.  Nevertheless,  his  footprints 
are  visible  everywhere,  only  requiring  careful 
observation  to  enable  us  to  recognise  them  and 
their  significance.  When  South  America  was 
discovered  the  coast  was  inhabited  by  Indian 
tribes  that  are  now  either  extinct  or  have  gone 
away  to  the  interior,  but  here  and  there  the  signs 
of  their  former  presence  are  still  visible.  On  the 
sand-reefs  when  once  a  clearing  is  made,  years 
and  even  centuries  may  elapse  before  it  is  again 
incorporated  with  the  jungle.  Again,  there  are 
always  a  few  plants  which  follow  the  steps  of 
the  red  man  and  remain  behind  long  after  he 
has  departed.  The  most  common  of  these  is 
the  pine- apple,  which  grows  in  great  clumps  on 

the  sand,  and  from  its  aggressive  nature  prevents 

269 


2;o  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

anything  weaker  than  itself  from  coming  to  the 
front.  Whether  this  plant  is  ever  truly  wild  is 
difficult  to  decide — as  far  as  can  be  judged  it  is 
always  a  sign  of  man's  presence  at  some  former 
period.  Ages  ago  perhaps  an  Indian  in  crossing 
the  mourie  threw  the  crown  of  a  pine-apple  beside 
the  path  after  eating  the  fruit,  and  to-day  im- 
pregnable clumps  indicate  here  and  there  the 
tracks  used  long  before  the  discovery  of  America. 

On  the  little  hills  which  rise  here  and  there 
beside  the  creeks,  and  which  we  should  judge 
likely  places  for  Indian  settlements  if  we  did  not 
know  the  people  had  migrated,  the  pine-apple  is 
nearly  always  to  be  found  if  the  soil  is  sandy  and 
barren.  With  it  also  grows  the  handsome  bella- 
donna lily  as  well  as  the  krattee  (Nidularium 
Karatas),  the  fibres  of  which  have  always  been 
used  for  hammock-ropes.  More  rarely  the  arrow- 
cane  (Gynerium  Saccharoides),  and  a  few  Cala- 
diums  are  also  seen,  but  as  they  require  a  more 
fertile  soil,  their  presence  is  inconsistent  with 
abandonment  for  any  long  period, 

The  first  European  settlers  arrived  about  three 
centuries  ago,  bringing  with  them  trees  of  the 
orange  family,  bananas,  and  sugar-cane.  This 
last  has  never  succeeded  in  propagating  itself 
or  in  holding  its  own  against  the  more  energetic 


MAN'S  FOOTPRINTS.  271 

native  plants.  The  others,  on  the  contrary,  endure 
for  a  time  according  to  circumstances,  and  are 
sometimes  found  existing  in  abandoned  settle- 
ments for  a  long  while  after  they  have  been 
deserted.  Now  and  again  we  come  upon  the 
lime  or  citron  growing  in  what  a  stranger  would 
call  the  virgin  forest  but  what  we  know  to  be 
"  second  growth."  Once  there  was  a  clearing 
here,  but  man  relinquished  his  efforts  to  keep 
nature  in  subjection,  with  the  result  that  the 
forest  has  resumed  its  sway,  and  will  ultimately 
smother  every  intruder;  If  the  soil  is  wet  this 
result  will  be  produced  all  the  sooner,  as  hardly 
any  cultivated  plants  can  endure  flooding.  In 
congenial  situations,  however,  where  the  land  is 
high  and  not  too  rich,  they  may  live  for  a  very 
long  time,  getting  hardier  as  years  roll  on  but 
becoming  almost  useless  as  fruit-bearers,  only 
serving  to  indicate  that  at  some  former  period 
an  European  settlement  existed  on  the  spot 

Coming  down  to  a  later  period,  we  find  that 
useful  plant  the  bamboo  introduced  from  the  East, 
followed  by  the  mango,  bread-fruit,  and  a  few  others. 
At  that  time  the  plantations  were  established 
to  the  distance  of  about  a  hundred  miles  up  the 
principal  rivers  and  almost  the  whole  facade  on 
either  bank  was  cleared  of  forest.  Then  the 


272  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Dutch  colonist  had  his  orchard  near  the  house, 
and  very  often  a  line  of  bamboos  along  the  shore. 
When,  however,  it  was  found  that  the  alluvion  of 
the  coast  was  the  most  fertile,  a  general  exodus 
took  place,  and  nearly  all  the  river  plantations 
were  abandoned.  In  a  very  few  places  some  of 
the  mango  trees  still  survive,  but  most  of  the  other 
fruit-trees  are  entirely  gone.  Still,  when  even 
these  have  been  destroyed  by  the  stronger  vegeta- 
tion of  the  forest,  a  clump  or  even  line  of  bamboos 
still  holds  its  own,  and  plainly  indicates  that  once 
upon  a  time  a  sugar  plantation  existed  on  the 
spot. 

Perhaps  the  traveller  has  seen  its  name  and 
that  of  the  owner  on  some  chart  of  the  last 
century,  and  wishes  to  find  out  whether  there  are 
any  remains  of  the  buildings.  If  it  has  been 
abandoned  a  long  time — say  fifty  years  or  more — 
the  forest  is  fairly  open  after  an  entrance  is  made 
through  the  thick  jungle  which  lines  the  river 
bank ;  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  man  has  departed  but 
a  little  while,  it  can  only  be  penetrated  by  the  use 
of  the  cutlass  at  every  step.  To  find  anything  in 
either  case  is  almost  impossible,  even  if  the  brick 
foundations  of  the  mill  or  the  great  oven  have  not 
been  carried  off,  and  when  the  explorer  is  particu- 
larly fortunate  he  finds  only  a  distorted  heap,  held 


MAWS  FOOTPRINTS.  273 

together  by  the  roots  of  figs  and  creepers.  These 
have  insinuated  themselves  between  every  crevice 
of  the  brickwork  until  hardly  two  remain  cemented 
together,  and  then  only  prevent  their  entire  separa- 
tion by  the  hold  they  have  on  them  by  their  roots. 
If  he  is  fortunate  the  traveller  may  find  the  family 
burying-place,  and  here  again  the  insidious  work 
of  the  fig  is  even  more  apparent.  No  one  has 
taken  away  the  bricks  or  slabs  to  make  pillars  for 
their  houses,  as  they  may  have  done  in  the  other 
case,  and  therefore  all  the  confusion  apparent  here 
is  entirely  the  work  of  the  plants.  Marble  tablets 
are  heaved  up  in  every  direction,  cracked  across, 
pushed  aside,  and  some  quite  covered  with  the 
network  of  roots.  What  was  once  a  regular, 
oblong  cavity  is  now  a  hollow  surrounded  by 
uneven  banks  of  root-cemented  bricks,  in  which 
no  trace  of  either  coffin  or  skeleton  can  be  seen: 
The  wood-ants  have  been  at  work  breaking  down 
everything  into  mould,  and  what  was  once  the 
"Edele  Achtbarr  Herr"  has  been  greedily  taken 
up  by  the  great  masses  of  fibres  which  cover  and 
interlace  everything. 

Coming  now  to  places  that  have  been  very 
recently  abandoned,  we  see  Nature  actually  at 
work  obliterating  the  marks  of  man's  presence. 

Rampant  creepers  extend  from  the  forest  into  the 
18 


274  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

clearing  and  cover  the  fruit-trees,  weeds  choke 
every  shrub  in  the  flower  garden,  the  cissus  (C. 
sicyoides)  climbs  all  over  the  wooden  walls  of  the 
building,  and  figs  insinuate  their  roots  between  the 
brickwork  pillars.  Cut  an  opening  through  the 
mound  of  vegetation  which  covers  what  was  once 
the  dwelling-house,  and  you  will  see  in  the  interior 
a  thicket  of  roots  which  have  pushed  themselves 
through  the  roof  and  penetrated  one  floor  after 
another  until  they  reached  the  ground,  where  they 
spread  and  dispute  every  inch  with  their  neigh- 
bours. The  painted  boards  may  appear  almost 
intact  except  for  cracks  and  crevices,  but  if  you 
press  your  hand  against  them  ever  so  lightly  they 
give  way.  Even  the  finger  can  be  pushed  through 
with  hardly  the  risk  of  a  splinter,  as  only  a  paper- 
like  film  remains  of  the  once  inch  board,  the 
remainder  being  nothing  more  than  an  inextricable 
confusion  of  galleries  with  similar  partitions  ex- 
cavated by  wood-ants.  The  floor  is,  of  course,  in 
the  same  condition,  and  even  the  beams  are  little 
better,  although  they  may  perhaps  have  a  small 
core  of  solid  timber.  A  few  months  later  a  heavy 
rainfall  will  make  the  whole  collapse  and  gradually 
sink  to  the  ground,  the  figs  meanwhile  rising 
higher  and  higher  on  the  rich  food  provided  by 
the  decomposing  material. 


MAWS  FOOTPRINTS.  275 

The  benab  of  the  Indian  and  hut  of  the 
boviander  (river  negro  or  half-breed)  are,  of  course, 
more  quickly  broken  down,  as  they  are  so  much 
more  fragile  than  the  houses  of  European  settlers. 
Perhaps  a  gourd  vine  climbs  upon  the  roof,  and 
brings  it  down  in  a  month  or  two  by  its  weight 
and  the  action  of  the  moisture  that  trickles  from 
its  leaves  on  to  the  thatch.  What  was  once  the 
cassava  or  sweet  potato  field  quickly  becomes  a 
jungle  of  prickly  solanums  interlaced  by  a  thousand 
creepers,  and  the  whole  clearing  is  an  example  of 
rampant  vegetation  and  the  intense  struggle  for 
the  mastery  of  one  by  another. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  that  although  man's 
footprints  may  be  discovered  in  the  forest,  they  are 
by  no  means  obvious  to  a  casual  observer.  On 
the  savannahs  and  sand-reefs,  however,  as  we  have 
seen,  they  are  more  permanent  and  conspicuous. 
The  great  plain  of  Pirara — the  traditional  site  of 
the  Golden  City  of  Manoa,  the  seat  of  El  Dorado 
— is  covered  with  slight  elevations.  On  these  may 
sometimes  be  discerned  the  marks  of  footpaths 
which  once  led  to  the  Indian  settlements  on  the 
top.  How  long  they  have  been  deserted  it  is  im- 
possible to  guess — perhaps  for  centuries ;  yet  from 
a  distance  they  are  quite  obvious,  although  not  so 
noticeable  when  under  foot.  Here  and  there,  too, 


276  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

are  streamlets  with  stepping-stones  from  which 
now  obliterated  trails  once  led,  and  these  also  tell 
of  a  former  population. 

These  little  footprints  of  past  generations  are, 
after  all,  very  insignificant,  and  do  almost  nothing 
to  alter  the  appearance  of  utter  desertion.  With 
the  exception  of  a  few  pictures  on  the  rocks  near 
certain  waterfalls,  there  are  no  antiquities,  and 
therefore  there  can  be  nothing  of  that  human 
interest  so  conspicuous  in  the  old  world.  Yet  the 
country,  as  well  as  the  people,  must  be  very  old, 
as  can  be  easily  proved  by  the  cultivated  plants* 
Like  the  food  vegetables  of  the  other  hemisphere, 
the  cassava,  sweet  potato,  maize,  and  capsicum  are 
never  found  truly  wild,  and  show  by  the  number  of 
their  varieties  that  they  must  have  been  under 
man's  care  and  control  for  ages.  Whether  any  of 
these  could  exist  for  a  length  of  time  away  from 
his  influence  is  very  doubtful,  but  it  is  strange  that 
the  same  thing  cannot  be  said  of  the  pine-apple. 
Here  we  have  a  fruit,  obviously  also  domesticated, 
which  nevertheless  thrives  everywhere  on  the 
barren  sand  in  utter  neglect.  This  seems  to  show 
that  it  is  possible  for  a  cultivated  plant  to  stand 
alone,  apart  from  man's  care  and  attention,  but  it 
is  quite  obvious  that  few  others  are  possessed  of 
this  capability.  In  most  cases  we  should  say  that 


MAN'S  FOOTPRINTS.  277 

these  would  quickly  perish  from  off  the  earth  if 
left  to  themselves. 

There  is,  however,  a  class  of  plants  which 
indicate  man's  presence  in  the  forest,  although 
they  are  never  planted  by  him.  Wherever  a 
clearing  is  made,  no  matter  how  far  it  may  be 
from  others,  certain  species  come  to  the  front 
that  are  never  to  be  found  in  the  virgin  forest. 
Among  them  may  be  mentioned  the  silver  fern 
(Gymnogramma  calomelanos),  certain  thorny 
solanums,  grasses,  and  scrambling  vines.  These, 
like  the  weeds  of  more  populous  countries,  follow 
man  wherever  he  goes,  but  do  not  spread  outside 
the  forest  region  to  any  great  extent.  In  presence 
of  the  great  army  of  cosmopolitan  weeds  of  the 
tropics  they  are  obliged  to  give  way,  but  in  their 
own  particular  environment  they  flourish  to  per- 
fection. It  sometimes  appears  as  if  their  seeds 
have  lain  dormant  in  the  earth  for  indefinite 
periods — perhaps  centuries — and  are  only  brought 
to  the  surface  when  the  soil  is  disturbed,  otherwise 
it  is  hard  to  say  how  they  came  into  the  new 
clearing.  An  orchid  (Catasetum  discolor)  is  found 
in  great  numbers  about  old  charcoal  pits,  and  here 
we  have  another  example  of  the  result  of  turning 
up  the  soil.  Similar  behaviour  has  been  noticed 
in  certain  wild  flowers  which  grow  in  the  woods  of 


278  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

Europe :  they  can  be  found  in  young  plantations, 
disappear  as  the  trees  become  more  crowded,  and 
again  come  to  the  front  after  a  clearance  has  been 
made.  In  such  cases  the  time  during  which  they 
lie  dormant  cannot  be  very  great,  but  here,  in 
many  cases,  it  must  be  something  enormous. 

In  the  absence  of  other  indications  of  man's 
former  presence,  it  is  to  the  cultivated  plants  we 
must  look ;  and  here  we  meet  with  a  great 
difficulty  at  the  commencement.  Except  the 
cassava  and  capsicum,  there  are  no  others  in 
general  cultivation  by  the  red  man,  and  these  are 
utterly  unable  to  contend  with  the  wildings  of  the 
forest.  The  cassava  is  very  quickly  overcome,  and 
although  perhaps  the  bird-pepper  may  endure  a 
little  longer,  the  annual  capsicums,  in  all  their 
varieties,  are  even  more  weak.  We  are  therefore 
reduced  to  the  pine-apple,  the  krattee,  the  arrow- 
cane,  and  a  few  beenas,  and  of  these  only  the  two 
first  are  able  to  exist  alone  for  any  length  of  time. 
These,  however,  are  so  common,  and  are  of  such 
great  evidential  value,  that  we  need  hardly  ever 
entertain  a  doubt  of  the  existence  of  a  settlement 
wherever  they  are  found.  A  less  obvious  but 
certain  indication  is  the  tobacco,  which  almost 
always  comes  up  when  the  soil  of  such  places 
is  disturbed,  the  seeds  having  lain  dormant  for  an 
indefinite  period. 


MAN'S  FOOTPRINTS.  279 

Here  in  tropical  America  the  cultivated  plants 
are,  as  we  said  before,  very  few.  Maize  has 
apparently  been  introduced  into  Guiana,  and  is 
hardly  known  among  the  Indians  of  the  far 
interior.  Cassava  takes  the  place  of  corn.  Its 
root  is  boiled  as  a  vegetable ;  grated  and  pressed, 
it  is  made  into  flat  cakes,  and  the  inspissated  juice 
is  used  with  capsicums  as  a  sauce  for  meat.  For  a 
change  sweet  potatoes  and  yams  are  grown  to  a 
very  slight  extent,  but  the  staff  of  life  is  always 
the  cassava.  This  deadly  poison  must  have  been 
in  cultivation  for  ages;  it  has  protected  itself 
against  every  wild  animal,  leaving  man  to  make 
the  discovery  that  all  its  noxious  properties  can  be 
dissipated  by  proper  cooking.  In  other  climes 
edible  fruits  and  vegetables  of  many  kinds  have 
been  developed  by  cultivation ;  the  Indian  has 
virtually  but  this  one.  Yet  he  has  succeeded  in 
doing  a  great  deal  with  it,  and  in  its  absence  would 
starve.  When,  therefore,  we  look  upon  its  beautiful 
leaves  and  luxuriant  stems,  we  cannot  but  wonder 
how,  in  some  bygone  age,  the  way  to  eliminate  its 
poison  and  utilise  it  in  such  different  ways  was 
first  discovered.  Nowhere,  perhaps,  in  the  vege- 
table kingdom  is  a  plant  more  noxious,  and 
certainly  none  so  useful,  yet  the  man  of  the  forest 
must  have  found  this  out  very  early  indeed.  Here, 


280  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

then,  we  have  evidence  of  reasoning  power  of  a 
very  high  order,  unless  we  credit  the  grand 
discovery  to  accident.  The  lower  animals  develop 
the  power  of  assimilating  poisons  without  injury ; 
man  drives  them  off  by  cooking. 

One  of  the  reviewers  of  the  first  edition  calls 
attention  to  the  fact  that  some  varieties  are  in- 
nocuous. This  is  true  to  a  certain  extent,  but  even 
these  are  not  quite  wholesome  until  cooked.  It  is, 
however,  the  "bitter"  cassava  (the  poisonous) 
which  is  always  used  for  bread. 


XVI. 
THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS. 

WHERE  plants  can  be  kept  under  subjection  as 
they  are  in  temperate  regions  men  are  apt  to  think 
of  them  as  almost  inanimate,  and  to  use  the  word 
vegetate  as  if  it  meant  little  more  than  a  slow 
mechanical  process.  Here  in  the  tropics,  however, 
trees  refuse  to  be  treated  with  contempt — they  are 
sentient  beings  very  much  alive  to  the  circum- 
stances of  their  surroundings  It  is  all  very  well 
to  ascribe  this  energy  to  the  action  and  reaction  of 
temperature,  sunlight,  and  rainfall,  but  if  the 
multitude  of  variations  were  produced  by  these 
agencies  alone  we  should  expect  something  like 
uniformity  instead  of  the  almost  bewildering  varia- 
tions of  the  forest  creatures.  Here,  if  anywhere, 
the  atmospheric  conditions  are  uniform,  at  least  for 
any  given  area,  yet  the  differences  between  species, 
and  even  individuals,  are  pronounced  in  the  highest 

degree.     If  some  particular  end   were  generally 

381 


282  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

desired  it  might  be  supposed  that  every  species 
would  endeavour  to  reach  it  in  the  same  way,  but 
instead  of  this,  hardly  two  have  attained  their 
object  by  other  than  most  diverse  means.  These 
multifarious  results  undoubtedly  go  to  prove  that 
plants  like  animals  are  not  altogether  the  creatures 
of  circumstance. 

Reflex  action  is  often  given  as  the  cause  of 
many  variations,  but  a  purely  mechanical  process 
is  decidedly  inadmissible.  When  a  tree  braces 
itself  against  the  winds,  waves,  and  floods  by 
spreading  its  mat  of  roots  on  the  mud,  throwing 
out  props  or  radiating  a  circle  of  buttresses  near 
the  ground,  these  contrivances  may  possibly  be 
thought  the  result  of  reflex  action,  but  to  us  they 
appear  to  be  much  more  than  this.  If  it  were  not 
so,  then  why  should  every  species  choose  a  more 
or  less  distinct  means  to  the  same  end.  In  the 
forest  we  have  here  a  tree  with  doubly-compound 
leaves  made  up  of  tiny  leaflets,  and  immediately 
adjoining  another  with  great  digitate  expansions 
as  large  as  umbrellas.  Here  is  a  climber  which 
coils  serpent-like  round  its  support,  there  another 
swarming  upwards  by  holding  on  with  claws  like 
a  cat,  further  on  a  third  ascending  by  means  of 
adhering  aerial  roots,  and  near  by  others  swarming 
up  as  boys  get  through  a  tangle  of  branches  by 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  283 

pushing  through  and  then  spreading  out  their 
arms.  All  are  exposed  to  the  same  influences  and 
have  responded  in  a  different  way. 

Instead  of  mechanical  uniformity  we  have  even 
greater  diversity  than  among  men,  probably  be- 
cause trees  want  the  means  of  combination.  Every 
one  stands  up  for  itself  entirely  regardless  of  its 
neighbours  except  to  push  them  away  when  they 
become  too  aggressive.  We  call  this  selfishness, 
but  can  hardly  conceive  of  its  existence  apart  from 
a  knowledge  of  what  is  to  be  gained  by  the  struggle. 
A  blundering  fool  can  never  be  credited  with  such 
a  vice  (or  virtue  ?),  but  a  calculating  business  man 
is  often  charged  with  it.  When  a  man  gains  some 
particular  object  for  which  he  has  been  long  striving, 
we  call  him  persevering,  energetic,  and  industrious, 
and  when  a  tree  does  the  same  we  can  hardly  do 
less  than  give  it  due  credit 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  plants  are 
sensitive,  or  to  attribute  the  faculty  only  to  those 
popularly  so  called.  Of  the  five  senses  credited  to 
animals  they  certainly  possess  three — feeling,  taste, 
and  smell.  True  they  have  neither  eyes  nor  ears, 
but  men  and  women  are  not  necessarily  wanting 
in  intelligence  because  they  are  blind  or  deaf. 
Like  human  beings  when  deprived  of  both  these 
organs,  trees  enjoy  the  sunlight,  and  are  even 


284  Itf  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

affected  by  the  vibrations  of  loud  noises.  The  real 
foundation  of  all  the  senses  is  undoubtedly  that  of 
feeling — all  the  others  may  be  wanting  without  loss 
of  communication  with  things  outside,  but  when 
feeling  is  gone  the  case  is  indeed  a  sad  one.  That 
feeling  is  possessed  more  or  less  by  all  plants  is 
certain,  and  in  some  this  sense  is  developed  to  a 
higher  degree  than  in  many  of  the  lower  animals. 

One  of  the  most  striking  examples  of  feeling  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  cocoanut  palm,  and  we  put  this 
first  because  the  sense  is  not  so  appreciable  in  the 
trunk  of  any  other  tree.  Leaves  and  flowers  can 
be  easily  recognised  as  sensitive,  but  a  palm  stem 
might  be  thought  almost  inert.  All  who  have 
been  in  the  tropics  will  have  noticed  the  beautiful 
straight  columns  of  the  palm  trees — natural  pillars 
that  seem  fitted  to  support  the  forest  canopy. 
Whether  thin  as  walking  sticks  or  massive  as  the 
pillars  of  a  house,  they  are  almost  invariably  erect, 
with  one  grand  exception — the  cocoanut.  Even  the 
artist  has  grasped  this  fact,  and  always  takes  care 
to  depict  this  particular  palm  with  a  graceful  wavy 
stem.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  bends  are  rarely 
graceful  ;  they  have  been  formed  for  use  not  orna- 
ment, and  tell  their  own  story  to  all  who  are  pre- 
pared to  listen  or  rather  observe  their  doings.  They 
are  by  no  means  all  alike — one  will  lean  in  some 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  285 

direction  with  one  or  two  almost  zigzag  bends, 
another  is  inclined  at  a  different  angle  and  nearly 
straight,  while  a  third  approaches  the  artist's  ideal, 
but  never  comes  up  to  it.  Along  the  shore  there 
is  generally  more  uniformity ;  the  stems  approxi- 
mate to  the  shape  of  a  bow,  the  two  points  of 
which,  the  bole  and  the  head,  point  seaward.  They 
behave  in  fact  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  men 
and  women  under  similar  circumstances,  facing 
the  wind  and  bending  forward  to  keep  themselves 
steady. 

While  other  palms  belong  to  the  forest,  the 
cocoanut,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  sea-shore  plant  all 
over  the  tropics,  and  has  become  suited  to  its 
environment.  But  it  is  by  no  means  at  a  stand- 
still ;  on  the  contrary,  as  we  have  already  stated, 
the  trunk  is  particularly  sensitive.  As  the  young 
palm  commences  to  rise  we  see  its  stem  facing  the 
wind  and  curving  forward,  but  when  taller  and 
exposed  to  the  full  power  of  the  continuous  and 
sometimes  excessive  breeze,  it  is  liable  to  be  twisted 
to  either  side.  Then  we  can  also  see  how  it 
struggles  to  recover  its  first  position,  bending 
forward  at  the  head  and  growing  a  foot  or  two 
until  it  is  again  blown  backwards  a  little,  to  renew 
the  struggle  as  before.  The  result  is  that,  with  the 
many  differences  of  locality  and  consequent  varia- 


286  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

tions  in  exposure,  every  stem  is  differently  curved, 
twisted,  and  bent,  some  leaning  in  this  direction 
and  others  in  that,  the  only  point  at  all  general 
being  towards  the  sea,  and  against  the  prevailing 
wind. 

Other  trees  do  not  show  themselves  to  be  equally 
sensitive  in  the  trunk,  but  there  are  many  signs  by 
which  they  can  be  recognised  as  not  devoid  of 
feeling.  It  is,  however,  in  the  roots  where  this 
sense  predominates,  but  we  need  not  quote  ex- 
amples as  they  will  occur  to  every  naturalist. 
Those  plants  called  "  sensitive "  are  equally  well 
known,  as  are  also  the  fly-catching  sun-dews.  They 
may  be  adduced  to  prove  that  leaves  do  many 
things  that  are  not  explicable  by  mere  reflex 
action.  As  for  flowers  we  have  already  dealt  with 
them  to  a  certain  extent,  and  will  only  mention 
the  well-known  fact  that  the  stamens  are  often 
peculiarly  irritable,  which  is  the  highest  develop- 
ment of  feeling. 

Taste  and  smell  are  so  intimately  connected 
with  each  other,  as  well  as  feeling,  that  they  can 
hardly  be  considered  apart.  Roots  are  undoubtedly 
able  to  distinguish  suitable  from  unsuitable  food, 
and  though  they  may  be  poisoned  now  and  then, 
this  is  nothing  strange  as  the  same  thing  happens 
even  to  man.  Their  sensitive  tips  go  wandering 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  287 

in  every  direction,  branching  here  and  there  in 
search  of  proper  food.  As  long  as  the  soil  is 
uncongenial  they  press  forward,  and  only  when  a 
good  feast  is  discovered  do  they  throw  out  that 
broom-like  mass  of  fibres  so  conspicuous  on  the 
banks  of  rivers  and  creeks.  A  barren  subsoil  is 
carefully  avoided  by  keeping  to  the  surface,  while 
in  the  rich  river  bottom  the  sour  water- logged 
alluvion  is  equally  distasteful.  On  the  sand-reef 
the  tap  roots  go  down  fifty  feet  or  more  and  spread 
most  evenly  to  glean  every  particle  of  food  con- 
tained in  the  water  which  has  percolated  to  these 
depths.  On  the  mountain,  again,  every  chink  and 
cranny  between  the  rocks  is  explored,  the  roots 
sometimes  penetrating  through  narrow  crevices 
into  hollows  where  water  has  accumulated  and 
spreading  their  network  of  fibres  over  the  roof, 
down  the  walls,  and  into  the  pools.  In  some 
cases  it  appears  as  if  the  roots  smell  the  water  at 
a  distance,  and  move  straight  onwards  until  they 
reach  it,  Some  epiphytes  that  push  their  aerial 
roots  down  the  trunks  of  trees  in  the  forest,  hang 
them  quite  free  when  above  the  water,  only  allow- 
ing them  to  branch  out  when  they  reach  the  surface. 
In  the  first  case,  moisture  is  obtained  from  the 
rain  and  dew  as  they  trickle  down  the  little  chan- 
nels in  the  bark,  while  in  the  other  a  reservoir 


388  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

of  water  is  below,  and  the  plant  seems  to  know 
it. 

It  is  however  in  the  aerial  roots  of  orchids  that 
sensitiveness  culminates.  On  living  trees,  round 
logs,  the  bars  of  wooden  baskets,  and  the  sides  of 
porous  flower-pots,  they  flow  along  as  it  were  and 
adhere  so  closely  that  it  is  impossible  to  remove 
them  without  injury.  The  fact  that  their  support 
is  congenial  is  so  patent  as  to  admit  of  no  doubt 
whatever.  Let,  however,  the  bark  of  the  tree 
become  diseased,  or  the  log  begin  to  rot  and  the 
change  is  at  once  noticeable.  The  fungoid  growths 
which  develop  under  such  circumstances  are  either 
poisonous  in  themselves  or  indicate  a  condition  of 
things  certainly  deleterious  to  the  orchid.  The 
aerial  roots  lose  their  vitality,  unfasten  themselves 
from  their  perch,  and  sometimes  prefer  to  fall 
rather  than  remain  exposed  to  contact  with  any- 
thing so  distasteful.  In  our  garden  we  have  seen  a 
plant  loose  itself  entirely,  and  have  had  to  pick  it  up 
from  the  ground  and  fasten  it  to  something  more 
congenial.  Another  example  we  have  been  watch- 
ing for  several  months — a  plant  of  Burlingtonia 
attached  to  a  thin  board  by  means  of  copper  wire. 
It  has  been  established  for  about  ten  years,  and 
seems  in  very  good  health,  flowering  at  regular 
times,  and  adhering  to  its  support  until  very  lately 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  289 

by  a  good  number  of  aerial  roots.  At  present  the 
board  is  hung  against  the  trunk  of  a  small  tree,  its 
back  being  in  actual  contact.  To  all  appearance 
it  is  yet  fairly  sound  although  decay  has  probably 
set  in,  and  it  will  be  rotten  in  a  year  or  two. 
Three  months  ago  we  noticed  that  the  orchid  was 
hanging  over  as  if  detached,  and  on  examination 
found  it  had  loosened  itself  as  far  as  it  could  and 
was  only  supported  by  the  wire.  Looking  closer 
again  we  discovered  that  it  had  thrown  out  several 
new  roots  which  clasped  the  tree,  and  was  prepared 
to  swing  itself  from  the  one  support  to  the  other, 
had  not  the  wire  kept  it  back.  In  the  forest  no 
doubt  such  migrations  are  common — the  branch 
becomes  rotten,  the  orchid  throws  out  extensions 
in  every  direction  to  search  for  something  better, 
some  of  these  attach  themselves  to  a  living  bough, 
perhaps  several  feet  distant,  and  the  whole  plant  is 
moving  off  before  its  weak  perch  gives  way.  What 
is  specially  noticeable  is  the  fact  that  it  does  not 
wait  for  the  downfall,  but  "takes  time  by  the  fore- 
lock." In  the  case  of  the  Burlingtonia  it  is  notice- 
able that  the  aerial  root  which  encircles  the  tree  is 
much  longer  than  any  other  that  it  produced  while 
in  its  old  position,  and  is  evidently  thus  developed 
for  a  special  purpose. 

In  many  orchids,  especially  those  of  a  large  size, 
19 


290  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

there  are  always  being  produced  a  number  of  aerial 
roots  which  appear  to  be  wandering  about  in  search 
of  something.  They  appear  to  twist  to  one  side 
and  then  to  another,  now  bending  at  an  angle  in 
any  direction,  and  generally  smelling  out  as  it  were 
for  a  congenial  holdfast.  Now  they  will  run  along 
a  branch  for  a  short  distance  and  then,  as  if  dis- 
satisfied, raise  their  sensitive  points  and  go  farther 
or  even  free  themselves  entirely.  Another  time 
you  will  apparently  see  the  point  about  to  take 
hold,  and  a  few  hours  afterwards  find  it  moving  off 
in  another  direction.  All  these  things  show  that 
these  plants  are  not  only  possessed  of  feeling,  but 
almost  certainly  of  taste  and  smell  also. 

Climbers  are  not  wanting  in  the  same  faculties. 
They  refuse  to  attach  themselves  to  dead  trees, 
and  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  rotten  sticks. 
Even  the  liking  for  one  soil  above  another  is  an 
example  of  taste.  Theoretically  we  like  those 
things  which  are  good  for  us — food  that  is  suitable 
to  our  constitutions,  elements  which  go  to  build  up 
the  tissues.  That  plants  should  have  similar  tastes 
is  only  to  be  expected  ;  their  sensitive  root-points 
must  have  the  power  of  choice,  and  that  they  make 
use  of  it  is  obvious. 

In  regard  to  smell,  we  know  that  certain  gases 
are  disliked  by  plants.  They  fold  their  leaves 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS.  291 

together,  close  the  pores,  and  shrink,  as  it  were, 
in  abhorrence.  Orchids  can  hardly  endure  a  sea 
breeze,  and  never  flourish  unless  protected  from  it. 
Other  trees,  like  the  cocoanut,  barely  exist  when 
salt  cannot  be  obtained,  and  seem  to  revel  in  what 
would  kill  the  orchid.  Every  one  knows  that  our 
most  delicious  perfumes  come  from  leaves  and 
flowers.  Is  it  not  probable  that  the  plants  them- 
selves derive  some  satisfaction  from  them,  even 
apart  from  their  results  in  attracting  insects?  It 
would  be  a  great  anomaly  to  have  a  perfume 
distiller  without  the  sense  of  smell,  and  we  can 
see  no  reason  why  plants  should  not  enjoy  the 
odours  they  have  taken  so  much  care  to  manu- 
facture. 

Admitting  that  these  senses  are  possessed  by 
members  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  must  we  not 
conclude  that  they  are  discriminately  used  ?  Every- 
thing goes  to  prove  that  such  is  the  case,  and  that, 
as  far  as  lies  in  their  power,  they  avoid  what  is 
disagreeable  and  rejoice  in  that  which  is  pleasant. 
Every  gardener  recognises  the  signs  of  good  health 
and  vigour  in  his  pets,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
observes  the  effects  of  disease  and  weakness.  He 
sees  them  straining  to  overcome  difficulties,  and, 
when  all  chances  of  success  are  gone,  make  dying 
efforts  to  leave  progeny  behind. 


292  fN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

This  reminds  us  that  plants  suffer  pain,  which  is 
only  possible  where  there  is  feeling.  Although 
they  set  to  work  and  repair  the  damage  done  by 
a  ruthless  pruning,  or  that  more  cruel  mutilation 
which  produces  a  pollard,  it  cannot  be  otherwise 
than  painful.  Again,  when  the  tree  is  in  the  folds 
of  the  strangler,  or  has  its  juices  continually  being 
abstracted  by  the  loranth  and  scale  insect,  we  re- 
cognise that  it  is  suffering.  Perhaps  a  great  branch 
is  torn  off  by  the  fall  of  another  tree,  and  here  we 
recognise  the  fact  that  it  is  wounded  and  bleeding. 
It  tries  its  best  to  form  a  cicatrix,  but  this  may  be 
imperfect,  or  meanwhile  the  germs  of  fungi  find  a 
congenial  spot  on  which  to  begin  their  work,  which 
leads  to  mortification  and  ultimately  death. 

There  are  certain  capabilities  in  some  plants 
which  can  hardly  be  considered  as  evidences  of 
feeling  alone,  but  are  yet  intimately  connected 
with  it.  They  have  latent  powers  that  are  never 
lost,  although  perhaps  not  utilised  for  many  gene- 
rations. Among  these  is  the  production  of  new 
plants  on  flower-stems  and  leaves  of  different 
species,  and  on  the  pseudo-bulbs  of  orchids.  Among 
the  plants  of  our  gardens  is  one  called  the  "  tree  of 
life  "  (Bryophyllum  calycinum),  which  has  the  power 
of  producing  new  plants  on  the  edges  of  the  leaves 
when  these  are  cut  off  and  hung  up  in  almost  any 


THE  SENSES  OF  PLANTS. 


293 


situation,  or  even  when  placed  between  the  leaves 
of  a  book.  This  is  by  no  means  a  general  mode 
of  reproduction  in  the  species,  nor  does  it  take 
place  under  ordinary  circumstances.  We  can  even 
conceive  it  possible  for  centuries  to  elapse  without 
its  being  utilised,  yet  the  power  remains,  and  can 
be  easily  proved  by  hanging  up  a  leaf  in  the  house. 
Under  certain  conditions  the  pseudo-bulbs  and 
stems  of  orchids  produce  young  plants,  as  do  also 
the  leaves  of  a  few  ferns.  These  may  be  considered 
as  survivals  from  some  former  time  when  the  plants 
propagated  themselves  in  this  way,  and,  as  such, 
good  examples  of  inherited  capabilities,  of  which 
more  will  be  said  in  the  next  chapter.  Nevertheless 
sensation  must  be  concerned  in  these  revivals  of 
ancient  modes  of  reproduction,  and  no  doubt  they 
are  the  result  of  most  delicate  processes  set  in 
motion  by  feeling. 


XVII, 
THE  CAUSES   OP   THE  STRUGGLE. 

WE  cannot  watch  this  intense  struggle  in  the 
forest,  on  the  bank  of  the  creek,  and  beside  the 
great  waters  without  coming  to  certain  conclu- 
sions. Here  before  us  is  strong  evidence  that 
every  plant  is  straining  after  several  things — light, 
room  to  grow,  a  secure  anchorage  against  wind, 
wave,  and  flood,  and,  above  everything,  perfection 
in  flower  and  seed.  All  have  succeeded  so  far  that 
they  still  exist,  and,  more  than  that,  thrive  to  an 
extent  far  beyond  what  could  be  expected  from  a 
mere  fortuitous  concurrence  of  circumstances.  They 
seem  to  know  what  they  want,  and  obtain  it  to  a 
greater  or  lesser  degree,  showing  considerable  lati- 
tude of  choice  in  means  to  the  same  end.  When  a 
man  does  similar  things  we  call  him  a  reasonable 
being — why  not  say  the  same  of  an  orchid  ? 

It  seems  to  us  that  all  this  is  explicable  on  the 
basis  that  every  species  and  every  family  is  con- 

294 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        295 

tinuous  as  long  as  the  line  exists.  Although, 
therefore,  from  one  point  of  view,  every  living 
thing  is  an  individual,  in  the  wide  sense  it  is  only 
a  link  in  the  chain,  and  must  be  considered  as  part 
of  one  great  whole,  extending  backwards  to  that 
misty  period  when  life  began  on  the  earth. 

We  have  seen  that  the  Guiana  forest  is  made  up 
of  hundreds  of  species  instead  of  the  half-a-dozen 
or  so  which  crowd  the  woods  of  temperate  climates. 
Not  only  is  there  great  variety  in  this  respect,  but 
it  may  be  safely  affirmed  that  here  also  individuality 
attains  its  highest  development.  It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  state  that  every  plant  is  an  individual  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term,  and  as  such  differs 
more  or  less  from  every  other. 

In  great  cities  the  struggle  for  existence  developes 
more  individuality  than  in  villages,  where  there  is  a 
tendency  to  perpetuate  old  manners  and  customs. 
A  similar  thing  happens  in  the  forest  with  a  throng 
much  denser  than  is  possible  in  any  city.  We  can 
only  compare  the  trees  to  a  great  mob  gathered  in 
one  place,  and  struggling  with  each  other  to  gain 
the  best  points  for  observation.  In  such  a  crowd, 
although  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  unison  as  far 
as  the  striving  to  attain  the  same  object  is  con- 
cerned, nevertheless  selfishness  reigns  supreme, 
and  the  weakest  get  trodden  under  foot.  So  is 


296  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

it  in  the  forest ;   each  irtdividual  strives  to  get  a 
share  of  the  sunlight,  and  elbows  every  one  that 
stands  in  its  way,  in  some  cases  climbing   upon 
their  shoulders,  and  in  others  trampling  them  down. 
We  can  hardly  conceive  of  selfishness  without  a 
self,  and,  if  we  go  a  little  further,  must  admit  that 
the  word  also  implies  consciousness.     Few  persons 
are  able  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  trees  are  indi- 
viduals, although  few  would  question  this  in  the 
case  of  such  animals  as   dogs,  cats,  and   horses, 
while  the  shepherd  would  claim  distinctness  for 
every  sheep  in  his  flock.     Here  in  the  tropics  we 
have  a  class  of  plants — the  epiphytal  orchids — of 
which  the  individuals  can  be  recognised  from  each 
other  by  every  one  who  has  studied  them.     Efforts 
are  continually  being  made  to  arrange  these  into 
species    and   varieties,   but    every  orchid    fancier 
knows  how  difficult  this  is.     No  two  are  exactly 
alike.     Apart  from  size  of  flower  and  leaf,  which 
may  be  credited  to  the  effect  of  surroundings,  there 
are  differences  in  colour,  shape,  and  markings  which 
stamp  every  one  as  peculiar  and  distinct   A  careful 
observer  knows  his  plants  as  he  does  his  friends, 
although  he  cannot  always  explain  how  he  does 
this  any  more  than  he  could  say  why  he  recognises 
a  hundred  different  negroes  or  Chinamen  from  each 
other. 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        297 

Other  plants  are  perhaps  not  so  easily  recognised 
as  individuals,  but  there  are  characters  even  among 
the  trees  of  the  same  species  by  which  they  may 
be  known.  Early  and  late  flowering  and  fruiting 
individuals  are  seen  in  every  country,  often  com- 
pelling attention  by  their  differing  from  the  average. 
Here  such  differences  are  carried  to  extremes, 
hardly  two  of  the  same  species  dropping  their 
leaves,  opening  their  flowers,  or  ripening  their  fruit 
at  the  same  time.  The  natural  consequence  is  that, 
instead  of  the  majority  carrying  on  these  operations 
almost  on  the  same  day,  the  seasons  last  for  a 
month  or  two,  and  it  is  possible  to  find  in  one 
garden  or  portion  of  forest  individuals  in  a  hundred 
different  stages.  This  is  not  only  a  very  interesting 
fact,  but  it  has  a  bearing  on  the  interdependence  of 
animals  and  plants,  which  we  have  considered  in 
another  chapter,  the  result  being  a  long  extension 
of  the  flowering  and  fruiting  seasons  and  consequent 
food  supply. 

Young  animals  are  somewhat  erratic ;  they  have 
not  yet  got  into  a  groove ;  their  elders,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  inclined  to  be  more  regular.  The  same 
thing  occurs  with  plants;  some  trees  which  become 
quite  denuded  twice  a  year  when  mature  are  never 
bare  in  their  youth.  A  similar  thing  takes  place 
with  their  flowering  ;  if  a  tree  blossoms  at  very 


298  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

irregular  times  it  is  always  a  young  sap- 
ling. 

Other  signs  of  individuality  are  recognised  by 
the  woodcutter,  chemist,  and  tanner.  Every  timber 
dealer  knows  that  there  are  great  differences  among 
woods,  entirely  apart  from  those  produced  by  the 
localities  on  which  the  trees  grow.  These  are 
popularly  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  the  moon, 
and  rules  are  laid  down  for  felling  only  at  particular 
stages  of  the  planet's  circuit.  Every  chemist  and 
pharmacist  also  recognises  the  differences  in  the 
amount  of  the  active  ingredient  in  certain  barks 
and  leaves,  while  the  leather  preparer  is  as  well 
acquainted  with  the  varying  amount  of  tannin  in 
his  materials.  All  these  differences  are  undoubtedly 
due  to  the  fact  that  some  trees  are  better  fitted 
than  others  for  the  great  struggle  for  life,  and  have 
succeeded  in  secreting  a  larger  quantity  of  the  pro- 
tective agent  than  their  fellows. 

More  obvious  to  the  popular  eye  are  the  variega- 
tions of  ornamental  foliage  plants.  Crotons  are  so 
well  known  as  to  have  received  the  name  of  "  match- 
me-not,"  from  the  impossibility  of  finding  even  two 
leaves  on  the  same  shrub  exactly  alike.  Several 
species  of  Sida — common  roadside  weeds — are 
equally  conspicuous  in  the  same  way,  and  in  the 
forest  variegation  is  by  no  means  rare.  As  for 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE,         299 

shapes  and  sizes  of  leaves,  although  fairly  uniform, 
yet  a  careful  observer  will  notice  minute  differences 
in  every  one,  and  the  same  thing  is  more  patent  in 
flowers. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  anything  more  to 
prove  that  individuality  does  exist  among  plants, 
as  every  gardener  will  be  able  to  verify  the  fact 
from  his  personal  experience.  The  great  questions 
are,  why  does  every  one  differ  from  the  others, 
and  how  does  this  come  about?  This  factor  in 
evolution  is  not  something  belonging  to  a  bygone 
time,  but  a  real  force  continually  at  work.  As 
individuals  are  born  every  day  we  ought  to  have 
no  very  great  difficulty  in  discovering  the  why  and 
how  of  these  differences.  Nevertheless,  like  other 
life  problems,  the  causes  of  variation  are  still 
almost  unknown,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  we 
shall  ever  be  able  to  obtain  anything  like  certainty 
as  to  their  origin. 

However,  even  tentative  theories  are  useful  to 
the  naturalist,  and  perhaps  the  views  of  an  ob- 
server in  the  tropics  may  be  considered  interesting, 
even  if  they  are  not  acceptable.  We  do  not  claim 
originality,  in  fact,  our  opinions  are  the  result  of 
study  and  research,  modified  probably  by  our 
own  individuality.  We  have  found  them  useful 
in  many  ways,  and  especially  as  means  of  ar- 


300  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

ranging  facts,  which,  without  some  connecting 
link,  would  be  isolated,  confused,  and  disordered. 

We  must  premise  that,  accepting  evolution 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  we  are  met  by  the 
great  problem  of  the  origin  of  variation  at  the  very 
commencement.  The  effects  of  environment  when 
perpetuated  become  heredity,  but  this  does  not 
explain  why  two  seeds,  the  offspring  of  the  same 
parents,  and  developed  under  exactly  similar  cir- 
cumstances, vary  more  or  less  from  each  other. 
Natural  selection  undoubtedly  is  a  factor  in  the 
preservation  of  varieties,  but  when  we  come  to  it 
for  an  explanation  of  how  they  originate  we  are 
baffled.  Henslow  and  Weissman  have  promul- 
gated theories  which,  although  not  altogether 
satisfactory,  are  steps  in  the  right  direction,  and 
students  will  be  able  to  recognise  their  influence 
on  our  own,  perhaps,  more  crude  ideas. 

The  key  to  variation  is  undoubtedly  to  be  found 
in  sexual  generation.  Every  one  knows  that 
varieties  are  more  easily  perpetuated  by  cuttings, 
suckers,  and  offsets,  than  from  seeds.  The  sucker 
is  not  an  individual  in  the  same  sense  as  the 
seedling,  it  resembles  more  those  lower  animalculae 
which  propagate  themselves  by  division.  These 
have  been  put  down  as  deathless,  for,  as  long  as 
the  species  endures  so  long  a  part  of  the  original 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        301 

individual,  must  live.  A  great  leap  was  made 
when  sexual  generation  was  introduced.  Instead 
of  one  parent  with  one  set  of  experiences,  two 
were  brought  together,  possibly  from  more  or  less 
different  surroundings,  each  impressed  with  the 
memories  of  their  long  existences.  As  a  comple- 
ment to  this  death  followed,  but  when  we  look 
into  the  matter  a  little  more  closely  we  shall  see 
that  this  development  has  not  really  altered  the 
fact  that  as  long  as  the  species  endures  there  is  no 
extermination.  Every  new  so-called  individual  is 
made  up  of  a  portion  of  each  of  its  own  parents, 
and  strictly  speaking,  only  differs  from  the  bud  or 
sucker  in  being  an  intimate  compound  of  two 
instead  of  one.  Every  child  is,  therefore,  not  only 
itself,  but  its  father  and  mother,  as  well  as  all  their 
ancestors,  and  cannot  be  considered  otherwise  than 
a  link  in  a  long  chain,  which  is  only  broken  if  he 
or  she  does  not  continue  the  line. 

In  the  course  of  Vhe  thousands  of  generations 
through  which  a  multiform  but  really  identical  per- 
sonality has  passed,  its  experiences  must  have  been 
exceedingly  numerous,  and  we  can  easily  believe 
that  every  one  of  these  has  been  perpetuated.  In 
man  this  fact  is  continually  being  proven,  and  no 
doubt  will  be  recognised  by  all  when  by  means 
of  photographs  their  ancestors  can  be  properly 


302  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

studied.  It  has  been  said  that  "the  face  is  the 
index  to  the  mind,"  and  however  one  may  be  in- 
clined to  dispute  the  inheritance  or  continuity  of 
mind,  he  cannot  say  anything  against  the  per- 
petuation of  features.  A  particular  shape  of  the 
nose,  a  curl  of  the  lip,  more  or  less  deeply-set  eyes, 
and  a  thousand  little  tricks  and  idiosyncrasies,  are 
continually  showing  us  that  the  father  or  mother 
lives  again  in  the  child.  In  some  cases,  where  the 
likeness  to  the  immediate  parents  is  not  obvious,  it 
may  be  found  in  some  remote  ancestor,  and  if  we 
only  had  their  portraits,  no  doubt  by  careful  study 
we  should  be  able  to  trace  almost  every  feature 
to  its  source.  Even  the  palms  of  the  hands  and 
soles  of  the  feet  have  peculiar  lines  which  run 
in  families,  and  go  to  make  up  a  physiognomy, 
every  part  of  which,  if  we  could  discover  it,  has  a 
meaning. 

Like  a  composite  photograph,  where  one  picture 
overlies  another,  and  all  go  to  make  up  the  whole, 
the  records  of  all  ages  are  permanently  fixed  on 
every  man  and  woman.  It  naturally  follows  that 
the  latest  impressions  are  strongest,  and  therefore 
children  will  be  more  like  their  fathers  and  mothers 
than  more  remote  ancestors.  Nevertheless,  every 
now  and  again  the  latent  characters  come  to  the 
front,  as  they  are  always  likely  to  do,  and  you  can 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.         303 

only  trace  them  by  looking  for  the  likeness  in  the 
long  gallery  of  family  portraits. 

If  this  continuity  is  so  strikingly  exemplified  in 
the  physiognomy,  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  to  be 
wanting  in  the  mental  characteristics.  And,  here 
again  we  have  an  overwhelming  mass  of  evidence 
to  prove  that  virtues  and  vices  are  often  exactly 
reproduced  in  the  offspring.  We  commonly  speak 
of  a  child  as  the  image  of  his  father,  and  include  in 
that  phrase  not  only  a  facial  likeness,  but  often  a 
peculiar  temper  or  particular  likes  and  dislikes. 
This  is  quite  natural,  the  child  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  have  the  outward  signs  without  those 
inner  feelings  of  which  they  are  the  exponents. 

Going  a  step  farther,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
understand  that  the  results  of  the  experience  of  all 
past  generations  is  contained  in  every  living  thing, 
no  matter  whether  they  are  conscious  of  the  fact 
or  not.  Possibly  each  vital  cell  is  impressed  with 
the  whole  life  history,  and  has  a  power  of  volition 
apart  from  the  conscious  will.  When  we  act 
instinctively  no  doubt  this  power  is  brought  into 
action,  for  instinct  is  nothing  more  than  the  result 
of  past  experience.  Children  do  many  things 
with  good  consequences  where  we  know  action 
has  come  from  impulse  and  without  knowledge. 
Again,  the  forest  Indian  and  even  the  half-civilised 


304  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

negro  does  almost  everything  instinctively.  They 
cannot  give  you  a  reason,  for  they  have  none,  and 
when  mothers  ask  their  children  why  they  have 
done  so  and  so,  rarely  indeed  can  a  rational  answer 
be  obtained.  Even  when  reasons  are  given  they 
are  often  so  absurd  that  you  feel  inclined  to  class 
those  who  give  them  as  half-witted  rather  than  as 
rational  beings.  The  fact  is  they  do  not  reason, 
but  simply  carry  on  their  daily  work  instinctively, 
or  in  imitation  of  some  one  else. 

Presuming  that  the  whole  body  is  impressed 
with  the  experiences  of  all  past  generations,  it  can 
be  easily  understood  that  acting  in  unison  these 
sensitive  germs  will  often  combine  together  and 
produce  effects  without  the  conscious  exercise  of 
the  will.  Again,  the  will  may  impress  them  to 
perform  a  certain  action  at  a  particular  time  in  the 
future,  and  the  thing  will  be  done.  The  former 
case  will  perhaps  help  to  explain  the  phenomena 
of  dreams,  and  the  latter  the  wonderful  power 
possessed  by  certain  persons  of  waking  at  a  par- 
ticular time.  Then  there  is  forgetfulness  ;  perhaps 
you  feel  uneasy  when  the  time  has  arrived  for 
doing  something  and  cannot  remember  what  it  is. 
It  seems  as  if  there  are  two  memories,  one  which 
permeates  the  whole  body  and  belongs  to  the 
continuous  line  of  generations,  and  the  other  that 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        305 

of  the  individual  life.  The  former  is  necessarily 
the  strongest,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that 
our  likes  and  dislikes  are  often  unreasonable,  and 
yet  refuse  to  be  governed  by  the  will. 

This  physical  memory  or  instinct  seems  to  be 
common  to  both  the  animal  and  vegetable  king- 
dom. It  is  a  beautiful  provision  of  nature  for 
protecting  every  one  of  her  creatures.  On  account 
of  it  young  birds  hide  from  the  soaring  hawk  and 
the  timid  deer  speeds  away  as  man  approaches, 
even  when  the  particular  individual  may  never 
have  seen  a  bird  of  prey  or  a  human  being,  much 
less  suffered  from  their  cruelty.  In  man  it  appears 
as  a  horror  of  snakes  and  other  more  or  less 
noxious  animals,  probably  inherited  from  ancestors 
far  more  subject  to  their  attacks  than  later  gene- 
rations. 

To  return  now  to  individuality ;  the  more  we 
study  it  the  more  difficult  it  becomes.  Perhaps 
the  very  characters  which  we  lay  most  stress  upon 
are  nothing  more  than  the  re-appearance  of  traits 
which  belong  to  the  family,  and  which  have  been 
obscured  for  centuries.  Then  there  is  another  set 
of  characters  which  have  resulted  from  the  environ- 
ment of  childhood  and  youth,  and  affect  our  esti- 
mate of  the  individual  to  a  wonderful  degree.  In 

ordinary  cases  we  might  even  go  so  far  as  to  say 
20 


306  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

that  these  account  for  almost  everything.  But, 
there  are  so  many  cases  of  genius  and  eminent 
capacity  in  certain  persons,  which  neither  heredity 
nor  environment  can  explain,  that  true  individu- 
ality may  be  considered  proven.  By  this  we  mean, 
that  even  apart  from  the  moulding  of  circum- 
stances and  the  almost  rigid  fetters  of  continuity, 
every  man  differs  from  every  other  who  is  now 
living  or  has  lived. 

Animals  and  plants  appear  to  exist  mainly  for 
the  purpose  of  procreation.  Everything  else  seems 
to  be  secondary  to  this.  Some  plants,  it  is  true, 
thrive  without  producing  seeds,  appearing  to  con- 
centrate their  energies  upon  such  inferior  modes  of 
reproduction  as  suckers,  tubers,  and  rhizomes,  but 
even  these  embrace  every  possible  opportunity  of 
flowering  when  they  get  enough  light.  All  the 
preliminary  work  of  the  forest  trees  is  done  to 
find  a  place  where  procreation  may  be  carried 
on,  and  when  this  is  secured  the  principal  task 
of  their  lifetime  is  accomplished.  For  this  they 
build  storehouses  as  it  were  and  concentrate  their 
strength  for  a  supreme  effort,  the  result  of  which 
we  see  in  the  lovely  flowers  which  deck  their 
canopies.  In  some  smaller  plants  such  as  the 
orchids,  we  can  appreciate  what  has  to  be  done 
before  a  perfect  seed  is  ripened.  Many  species 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        307 

have  flowers  so  large  and  seed-vessels  so  heavy 
that  we  wonder  how  they  could  have  been  pro- 
duced from  such  a  little  assemblage  of  pseudo- 
bulbs  and  leaves.  Under  cultivation  many  fail — 
they  want  to  blossom  but  are  too  weak.  And 
when  they  do  succeed  it  is  often  by  a  last  expiring 
effort — they  have  done  their  best  to  keep  up  the 
continuity,  and  then  die.  In  some  species  of 
Catasetum  there  are  male  and  female  flowers,  quite 
distinct  in  appearance  the  one  from  the  other,  and 
what  is  most  curious,  borne  on  the  same  plant  at 
different  times.  It  appears  as  if  the  orchid  is  able 
to  choose  whichever  of  these  it  is  strong  enough 
to  bring  to  perfection.  The  male  necessarily 
requires  a  less  continuous  strain  as  it  is  saved  from 
the  labour  of  ripening  the  capsules,  which  takes 
several  months.  When,  therefore,  the  plant  is 
comparatively  weak,  only  male  flowers  are  pro- 
duced, but  when  the  pseudo-bulbs  are  plump  and 
strong,  females.  These  and  a  thousand  other 
examples  of  choice  of  means  to  a  particular  end, 
all  go  to  prove  that  plants,  like  animals,  are  by  no 
means  wanting  in  what  we  have  called  physical 
memory  and  its  complement  physical  reason. 

Given  a  so-called  individual,  how  does  he,  with 
the  assistance  of  a  mate,  procreate  another  link  in* 
the  chain  that  is  in  any  way  different  from  them- 


3o8  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

selves  ?  The  parents  have  inherited  the  experiences 
of  all  their  progenitors  and  added  to  these  a 
number  of  their  own.  They  have  also  naturally 
settled  down  as  it  were  and  are  little  affected 
externally  by  change  of  circumstances.  But  it 
does  not  follow  because  we  hide  our  feelings  that, 
therefore,  they  do  not  affect  us  ;  on  the  contrary, 
is  it  not  true  that  our  passions  may  be  stirred  to 
their  lowest  depths  until  they  dominate  us  entirely, 
when  perhaps  no  sign  is  visible  in  the  face  ?  The 
sexual  passion  is  undoubtedly  the  most  intense 
throughout  both  the  animal  and  vegetable  king- 
doms, and  will  therefore  have  more  influence  than 
any  other.  Even  flowers  are  extremely  sensitive 
at  the  time  of  fertilisation  and  some  have  been 
proved  to  generate  heat  during  the  process.  This 
being  the  case  it  is  not  difficult  to  understand 
that  the  plastic  germ  of  the  future  individual  will 
become  subject  to  impressions  which  would  not 
affect  either  the  leaf  or  trunk  of  its  parents,  and 
we  believe  these  impressions  go  to  make  up  that 
character  which  distinguishes  the  individual. 

We  may  suppose  a  case  where  the  flower  has 
done  its  best  to  keep  away  noxious  insects  by 
means  of  certain  secretions,  and  only  partially 
succeeded.  Some  of  the  nectar  has  been  ravished 
without  any  good  result.  The  parent  experiences 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        309 

this  but  is  too  old  to  change ;  it  is  the  germ  which 
is  sufficiently  impressionable  to  do  this.     After  all 
it  is   only  another  experience  of  the  continuous 
being,  and  differs  little  from  the  changes  going  on 
every  day  except  that  the  infant  is  more  plastic 
and  more  affected  by  the  circumstance.    We  might 
go  on  quoting  examples,  but  plenty  of  these  will 
occur  to  the  mind  of  the  naturalist     Some  will 
perhaps  say  that  there  are  cases  where  no  benefit 
can  possibly  arise  from  particular  variations.     We 
can  never  be  quite  sure  that  this  objection  is  valid, 
and  even  were  it  the  case  it  is  easy  to  conceive 
that  mistakes  are  made  sometimes.     It  would  be 
strange   indeed   if   nature   were   faultless   in  this 
respect,  seeing  that  man  with  all  his  instincts  and 
higher  development  of  reasoning  power  continues 
to  err.     And   every  mistake  entails  its  own  con- 
sequences which  are  often  disastrous  while  natural 
selection  perpetuates  the  most  useful  variations. 

From  these  premises  it  appears  to  us  that  the 
key  to  variation  is  continuity.  The  experiences  of 
every  past  generation  is  embodied  in  every  living 
thing,  and  each  one  of  these  affects  the  offshoot 
more  or  less.  To  these  are  added,  in  the  course 
of  its  own  life,  a  thousand  others,  and  when  its  most 
critical  period  arrives  and  the  bud  which  goes  to 
make  up  a  new  being  is  particularly  sensitive, 


310  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

every  little  circumstance  must  then  make  so  much 
the  greater  impression.  When  pain  and  trouble 
come  man  shows  by  his  face  that  they  are  at  work, 
however  he  may  wish  to  hide  them  from  his  friends. 
How  little  a  thing  is  pregnant  with  the  direst 
results  is  seen  in  the  cases  of  epidemic  diseases, 
and  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  certain  disorders 
of  the  sexual  organs  are  very  easily  contracted 
because  these  organs  are  peculiarly  sensitive  at 
particular  times.  All  these  things  go  to  prove  that 
we  have  within  us  a  host  of  memories  of  which  we 
know  nothing  and  that  the  record  is  being  kept 
for  all  future  generations.  It  is  not  for  the 
naturalist  to  moralise  upon  such  a  subject,  but 
nevertheless  we  cannot  help  remarking  that, 
believing  this,  our  responsibilities  must  appear 
overwhelming.  No  matter  that  everything  is 
righted  in  time,  much  suffering  is  entailed  in  the 
process,  and  many  generations  may  pass  before 
the  consequences  of  a  mistake  are  effaced. 

This  reminds  us  of  the  fact  that  troubles  and 
difficulties  are  essential  to  progress.  Every  varia- 
tion and  useful  contrivance  is  the  effort  of  imper- 
fection to  advance  and  become  more  fitted  to  a 
particular  environment.  But  the  end  can  never 
be  altogether  attained,  as  plants  and  animals  both 
strive  to  overreach  each  other,  and  as  fast  as  one 


THE  CAUSES  OF  THE  STRUGGLE.        311 

succeeds  in  gaining  a  step  in  the  way  of  defence, 
the  other  as  quickly  becomes  more  aggressive. 
The  more  difficulties  encountered  by  the  species 
the  more  experience  it  acquires,  and  therefore  the 
greatest  developments  take  place  in  those  which 
have  already  overcome  many  obstacles.  When  a 
plant  or  animal  has  settled  down  as  it  were,  and 
is  no  longer  subject  to  the  attacks  of  enemies  or 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather,  it  begins  to  re- 
trograde, as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of  our 
cultivated  flowers.  It  frequently  happens,  however, 
that  this  degradation  is  prevented  by  efforts  in 
other  directions — the  plants  do  not  require  such 
hard,  wiry  stems  and  hairy  leaves  as  when  growing 
outside  the  garden,  and  therefore  devote  their 
energies  to  extraordinary  developments  in  their 
flowers.  Such  cases,  although  from  one  point  of 
view  appearing  to  be  weak  and  degenerate,  are 
really  examples  of  hard  work  and  accommodation 
to  new  circumstances. 

The  theory  of  continuous  existence  seems  to  be 
very  useful  in  explaining  some  of  the  problems 
of  human  life.  Loti,  in  his  "  Book  of  Pity  and 
Death,"  says  :  "  The  human  head  is  filled  with 
innumerable  memories,  heaped  up  pell-mell  like 
the  threads  in  a  tangled  skein.  There  are  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  them  hidden  in  obscure 


$i±  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST. 

corners  whence  they  will  never  come  forth ;  the 
mysterious  hand  that  moves  and  then  puts  them 
back  seizes  sometimes  those  which  are  most 
minute  and  most  illusive,  and  brings  them  back 
for  a  moment  into  the  light  during  those  intervals 
of  calm  that  precede  and  follow  sleep.  The  com- 
mencement and  the  end  (of  the  dream}  existed  in 
other  brains  long  since  returned  to  dust." 

This  is  undoubtedly  suggestive  of  that  con- 
tinuity which  we  have  been  considering,  as  is  also 
the  following  from  Tennyson's  "  Two  Voices  "  : — 


"  Moreover  something  is  or  seems, 
That  touches  me  witk  mystic  gleams 
Like  glimpses  of  forgotten  dreams — 

Of  something  felt,  like  something  here ; 
Of  something  done,  I  know  not  where, 
Such  as  no  language  may  declare." 


XVIII. 
NATURE'S  LAWS. 

THE  naturalist  sees  all  round  him  evidences  of 
order,  unity,  fitness,  and  economy.  Everything 
is  one  great  whole  working  together  for  good  ; 
wheels  within  wheels  revolve,  no  one  of  which 
is  entirely  useless.  The  individual  unit,  how- 
ever, is  not  of  the  first  importance,  but  rather 
the  whole  realm.  Nevertheless,  as  the  whole  is 
made  up  of  its  parts,  these  have  to  be  considered  ; 
at  the  same  time  the  failure  of  a  few  does  not 
much  affect  the  species,  nor  does  the  downfall 
of  even  a  species  permanently  affect  the  great 
whole. 

Whether  this  condition  of  things  was  designed 
is  hard  to  tell ;  we  see  only  consequences.  In 
fact,  we  cannot  conceive  of  an  effect  without 
a  cause.  Everything  that  exists  is  what  it  is 
because  something  happened  in  the  past.  There 

is  no  such  thing  as  chance. 
313 


314  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

If  there  was,  or  is,  a  design,  what  is  it  ?  We 
can  only  answer,  "  the  greatest  good  of  the 
greatest  number."  What  the  good  probably  means 
is  continued  existence,  the  comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  living,  in  fact,  "  being,  doing,  and  suffering/' 
as  the  grammars  have  it.  The  enjoyment  of 
life  depends  upon  the  way  the  three  great  laws 
are  carried  out.  Every  living  thing  must  obey 
them  at  their  peril.  To  ignore  two  of  them 
means  pain,  suffering,  and  death,  to  despise  the 
third  leads  to  an  end  of  the  line. 

These  laws  are,  in  brief,  first,  get  food  ;  second, 
protect  yourself;  and  third,  procreate  the  species. 
They  may  be  all  comprised  in  the  statement 
that  "  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature." 

To  get  food  all  have  to  work ;  our  powers 
have  been  developed  to  this  end.  Animals,  by 
continual  use  of  their  faculties,  have  sharpened 
them  ;  were  any  one  allowed  to  degenerate  star- 
vation might  ensue.  To  fly,  swim,  run,  climb, 
and  spring  are  means  of  getting  food,  and  so 
are  the  beautiful  contrivances  seen  in  teeth  and 
claws,  as  well  as  the  hands  of  monkeys  and  man. 
Not  only  food,  but  suitable  kinds,  have  to  be 
hunted  for  with  eyes,  ears,  and  nose,  and  have 
often  to  be  tasted  before  eating.  Even  feeling 
is  largely  concerned  with  the  same  laws,  Fight- 


NATURES  LAWS  315 

ing  is  connected  with  this  as  well  as  the  others  ; 
it  is  natural  for  carnivorous  animals  to  fight  for 
their  prey  and  sometimes  to  struggle  against 
others  before  they  can  enjoy  a  meal. 

The  law  of  self-defence  is  innate.     The  sudden 
onslaught  of  the  beast  of  prey  necessarily  leads 
to  a  struggle.     Every  living  animal  protects  itself 
in  some  way  from  the  elements,  even  where  warm 
clothing  and  caves  are  not  necessary.    Herbivorous 
animals  learn  to  avoid  poisons  and  to  choose  dry 
lairs ;  those  which  have  been  domesticated  lose  this 
faculty,  and  in  consequence  sometimes  die.     Hogs 
have  learnt  to  avoid  the  bites  of  poisonous  snakes 
and  even  to  kill  these  noxious  creatures  for  food. 
Some  animals  drive  off  the  sick,  and  even  savage 
man   leaves  his   stricken  friends.     Civilised  man 
has  grown  so  careful  that  isolation  of  the  sick  is 
a  law.     Cleanliness  is  also  very  important.     When 
cats  scratch   a  hole   for   their   deposits   they   do 
the  same  as  the  Indian  of  the  forest,  whose  settle- 
ment is  free  from  cesspools.     We  cannot  find  a 
speck  of  dirt  in  the  bird's  nest ;  it  is  indeed  "  a 
dirty  bird   that   fouls   its   own  nest."     From   the 
beak  of  a  bunya  a   sportsman   once   saw  some- 
thing drop ;   on  examination  he  found  it  to  be 
the  excrement  of  the    young.     She    had    been 
house-cleaning.     The  same  bird  hangs  her   nest 


3i6  M  THE  GUIANA 

at  the  end  of  palm  fronds  to  defend  it  from  snakes 
and  opossums.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the 
callow  young  of  wild  birds  are  not  attacked  by  ants  ; 
cage  birds  and  chickens  often  suffer  from  these 
tiny  pests  and  so  do  our  babies.  We  have  not  yet 
found  out  the  reason,  but  possibly  there  may  be 
something  repellant  in  the  young  bird ;  cleanli- 
ness would  naturally  conduce  to  the  result.  For 
self-defence  alligators  have  thick  skins,  fishes 
scales,  plates,  cuirasses,  spines,  and  electric 
organs.  Horns  and  hoofs  are  protective,  as  are 
also  shaggy  coverings,  and  specially  the  quills  of 
the  porcupine.  Coloration  to  suit  the  habitat 
is  everywhere  patent ;  it  is  very  important  as  a 
defence. 

As  every  species  has  its  place  in  the  great 
realm  of  nature  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  it 
be  continued  ;  it  follows,  therefore,  that  the  sexual 
law  or  instinct  is  almost  as  strong  as  the  desire 
for  food  among  the  higher  plants  and  animals. 
It  is  not  this,  however,  that  is  everything ;  only 
the  lower  organisms  bring  forth  their  young  in  a 
condition  to  provide  for  themselves.  The  higher 
the  being  the  more  helpless  is  its  offspring ;  the 
little  ones  would  die  if  left  alone.  Even  plants 
make  provision  for  their  babies  in  the  shape  of 
albumen  and  starch ;  this  store  is  utilised  until 


NATURE'S  LAWS  317 

the  seedling  can  feed  itself.  Many  insects  which 
do  not  see  their  little  ones  nevertheless  work  for 
them  in  a  most  beautiful  manner.  If  the  larvae 
feed  on  some  particular  plant  the  mother  searches 
for  it,  often  wandering  for  miles.  Then  she 
appears  to  study  one  situation  after  another  before 
deciding  to  lay  her  eggs.  The  solitary  wasp 
builds  a  mud  cell,  or  excavates  a  burrow,  humming 
with  pleasure  at  her  work.  When  this  is  ready, 
off  she  goes  to  bring  some  fat  caterpillar  or  a 
grasshopper  bigger  than  herself,  dragging  it  along 
by  a  series  of  flying  leaps.  The  wonderful  manner 
in  which  she  paralyses  without  killing  this  pro- 
vision supply  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  things 
to  a  close  observer.  The  food  on  which  she  lays 
her  eggs  is  still  alive  when  the  larvae  come  out 
of  their  shells ;  neither  dry  nor  putrid.  When 
building  she  resents  interference,  as  we  found  out 
on  one  occasion  when  going  too  close  to  the 
place  where  one  of  the  mud-daubers  was  working. 
The  sting  was  more  paralysing  than  painful, 
extending  from  the  ringer  to  the  shoulder  and 
lasting  for  three  days.  During  this  time  every 
movement  of  the  hand  or  arm  was  painful. 

Parental  care  is,  however,  most  conspicuous  in 
birds,  marsupials,  and  mammals.  The  callow 
and  helpless  little  ones  require  more  care  because 


3i8  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

of  their  condition,  and  therefore  they  get  it.  And 
here  we  must  draw  the  distinction  between  poly- 
gamy and  monogamy;  Nature  abhors  promiscuous 
sexual  intercourse.  In  the  case  of  polygamous 
animals,  only  the  mother  takes  care  of  the  young ; 
monogamous  species  require  and  get  the  attention 
of  both  parents;  it  follows,  therefore,  that  monogamy 
is  higher  from  the  altruistic  standpoint.  The  best 
example  of  a  polygamous  bird  is  the  domestic 
fowl ;  the  cock  does  not  know  his  children. 
Wild  horses  and  cattle  are  also  polygamous,  but 
here  the  father  does  something  to  protect  his 
females  and  their  little  ones. 

It  is,  however,  in  animals  that  pair  where 
altruism  becomes  patent.  The  pigeon  is  a  well- 
known  example  ;  every  one  knows  how  the  doves 
display  their  solicitude  for  their  mates  and 
parental  care  for  their  little  ones.  The  little  wren 
is  called  "  God's  bird "  by  the  negroes,  and  both 
father  and  mother  display  a  very  high  type  of 
affection  for  their  little  ones,  even  going  so  far 
as  to  feed  the  young  of  the  lazy  bird  which  has 
the  habit  of  the  cuckoo.  Sometimes  the  father 
and  mother  work  very  hard  to  feed  these  sturdy 
bastards  as  well  as  their  own  nestlings. 

Fishes  are  considered  as  cold  in  their  affections 
as  in  their  blood,  Nevertheless,  they  are  often 


NATURE'S  LAWS  319 

seen  to  have  the  germs  of  parental  feeling.  The 
stickleback  is  the  best-known  example,  but  here 
in  Guiana  we  have  several  fishes  which  show 
paternal  care.  As  far  as  can  be  gathered  it  is 
the  male  fish  which  makes  the  hollows  in  which 
the  female  lays  her  eggs ;  then  he  drives  away 
the  mother  and  remains  on  guard  until  the  little 
ones  come  forth ;  it  is  also  the  father  which 
sometimes  shelters  the  young  in  his  mouth. 

We  are  so  accustomed  to  think  only  of  maternal 
care  that  we  hardly  appreciate  the  fact  that  the 
father  is  conspicuous  in  many  cases.  The  Su- 
rinam toad  and  a  frog  (Nototrema)  are  examples  ; 
in  the  case  of  the  first  the  male  places  the  eggs  on 
the  back  of  the  mother  and  in  the  second  in  a 
dorsal  pouch.  Wild  cats,  including  jaguars  and 
tigers,  are  monogamous ;  both  father  and  mother 
assist  in  bringing  up  the  cubs,  and  will  fight  any 
intruder  that  comes  near  them.  We  all  know 
how  the  domestic  cat  watches  over  her  kittens, 
but  unfortunately  she  has  been  corrupted  under 
unnatural  conditions,  and  the  male  takes  no  part 
in  this  solicitude. 

Now  we  come  to  the  strongest  motive  for 
fighting.  We  have  seen  it  in  the  attack  of  beasts 
of  prey  and  the  natural  defence  of  their  victims, 
we  now  see  it  under  two  forms  as  connected 


320  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

with  procreation.  First  there  is  the  fighting  of 
polygamous  animals  with  each  other  and,  second, 
the  guarding  of  the  young  against  all  enemies. 
The  old  Roman  in  fighting  for  the  Sabine  women 
represents  the  one  aspect  and  his  battle-cry, 
Pro  ares  et  foces>  the  other. 

The  best  example  of  fighting  for  the  females 
is  probably  that  of  the  stag.  Its  horns  are 
evidently  fitted  for  the  struggle  which  takes  place 
once  a  year  when  he  gathers  his  harem  together. 
When  this  has  passed  the  horns  drop  off  and  the 
new  ones  are  tender  until  the  rutting  time  comes, 
when  they  are  again  required.  Here  we  have 
weapons  that  are  required  at  a  particular  time 
and  they  are  ready  for  use  only  at  that  time. 
Other  weapons  of  the  male,  such  as  the  spurs 
of  a  cock  and  the  horns  of  the  ram,  are  not  shed, 
but  they  are  evidently  suited  for  fighting  and  are 
distinctly  connected  with  polygamy.  Wild  bulls 
and  stallions  are  not  provided  with  special 
weapons,  but  it  is  noticeable  that  they  are  always 
stronger  and  fiercer  than  the  females. 

Fighting  for  the  young  is  natural.  When  a 
mother  neglects  her  babe  we  say  she  is  unnatural, 
and  we  are  right.  This  is  the  main  basis  of  war 
and  has  led  to  the  legal  definitions  of  property. 
In  animals  we  have  the  germ  of  this  ;  the  lair  or 


NATURES  LAWS  321 

nest  with  the  young  are  the  personal  belongings 
of  father  and  mother.  Man  was  once  a  poly- 
gamist,  but  he  has  got  to  the  higher  plane; 
possibly  he  may  degenerate  in  the  future  if  the 
great  law  of  procreation  is  ignored.  Man  is 
"Nature's  insurgent  son,"  as  Dr.  Ray  Lankester 
well  says,  but  can  he  afford  to  neglect  the 
teachings  of  his  mother  ? 

The  great  problems  of  life  can  be  answered  only 
by  the  student  of  nature ;  the  true  revelation  is 
before  him.  Whether  he  believes  in  the  Eternal 
that  worketh  for  good,  or  decides  to  leave  over 
a  first  cause  as  something  beyond  thinking,  he  is 
bound  to  admit  consequences.  These  conse- 
quences are  lessons  that  cannot  be  ignored  ;  cause 
and  effect  must  be  studied.  As  everything  he 
knows  conduces  to  some  good  end,  he  can  only 
conclude  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  real  evil. 
Death  is  as  necessary  as  birth,  and  without  both 
organic  Life  would  be  at  a  standstill.  It  is  quite 
evident  that  progress  is  the  aim  of  everything, 
and  we  may  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is  the 
intention  of  the  Ruler  of  the  universe.  Trouble 
and  pain  develop  the  faculties  and,  from  the 
higher  standpoint,  the  cardinal  virtues.  There 
is  no  real  difficulty  in  choosing  what  is  right,  and 
we  must  keep  always  in  mind  that  this  must  be 
21 


322  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

done  whatever  the  anticipated  consequences. 
The  real  consequences  we  may  safely  leave  out 
of  consideration. 

Man  must  obey  the  three  great  laws,  but  not 
blindly.  As  a  reasonable  being  he  is  able  to 
foresee  consequences  to  a  certain  extent.  He,  has 
also  learnt  the  value  of  law  and  order  and  the 
benefits  derived  from  a  communal  life.  Some 
attempt  has  likewise  been  made  to  teach  him 
"  to  do  unto  others  as  he  would  that  they  should 
do  unto  him."  And  here  comes  the  great 
question,  How  far  can  he  reconcile  his  selfish 
natural  instincts  with  altruism  ?  Can  he  do  it  at 
all  ?  To  some  extent  he  may,  but  not  entirely. 

To  get  food  he  must  work,  not  steal,  or  be  a 
burden  on  the  community.  He  must  fight  in  self- 
defence,  but  no  more;  of  course,  his  family  is 
included,  but  how  far  he  can  go  in  fighting  for 
friends,  fellow-citizens,  and  fellow-countrymen  is 
doubtful.  He  must  have  a  wife  and  family,  not 
interfere  with  those  belonging  to  others,  and  do 
his  duty  as  a  husband  and  father. 

Altruism  sympathises  with  the  weak.  We 
cannot  bear  to  see  human  beings  suffer,  neither 
can  we  look  without  pain  on  the  suffering  of  any 
domestic  animal.  Notwithstanding  this,  every 
day  we  eat  meat  that  has  been  obtained  by 


NATURE'S  LAWS  323 

killing  helpless  animals,  the  death  of  which  many 
of  us  could  not  bear  to  witness.  And  yet  we 
are  partly  carnivorous,  as  our  teeth  plainly  show. 
Then  there  is  that  shocking  thing  called  sport; 
few  animals  are  so  low  as  to  play  with  their 
victims.  We  can  only  call  sportsmen  degenerates 
unworthy  to  be  classed  as  higher  animals.  Even 
the  instinct  that  is  gratified  when  a  man  glories 
in  a  fight  with  some  savage  beast  is  entirely 
absent ;  "  hit  one  of  your  own  size "  should  be 
brought  home  to  the  battue  shooter. 

The  strenuous  life  is  undoubtedly  the  better ;  it 
conduces  to  that  feeling  which  exults  in  hard  work 
for  an  object.  Work  without  an  end  or  aim  is 
dull,  but  not  quite  so  dull  as  idleness.  The  idle 
must  degenerate;  every  faculty  is  weakened  by 
disuse,  and  in  some  cases  sickness  ensues.  The 
weakest  must  naturally  "  go  to  the  wall."  Modern 
civilisation  is  responsible  for  many  drawbacks ; 
possibly  the  greatest  is  that  want  of  independence 
so  conspicuous  in  the  workman  of  to-day.  By 
combination  much  more  can  be  done,  but  the 
individual  suffers  and  through  him  the  race. 
There  is  no  end  or  object  to  be  gained  beyond 
the  weekly  wage  ;  in  many  cases  there  is  no  scope 
for  ingenuity  or  excellence. 

Every  plant  and  animal  is  an  individualist  first. 


324  IN  THE  GUIANA   FOREST 

Everything  they  do  is  done  for  selfish  reasons  if  we 
may  not  rather  consider  the  actions  instinctive. 
At  the  same  time  there  are  many  object-lessons 
in  combination  among  them.  Somehow  or  other, 
however,  communities  of  plants  and  animals  do 
not  strike  us  as  altogether  successful.  There  is 
no  doubt  that,  as  far  as  number  is  concerned,  the 
Socialists  predominate,  but  they  appear  to  be  less 
happy.  Where  father,  mother,  and  children  dwell 
in  one  home  there  must  surely  be  something 
higher  than  a  bee  or  ant  community.  Where 
division  of  labour  is  carried  to  extremes  the 
individual  necessarily  degenerates.  The  slave- 
holder among  ants  has  got  to  a  stage  where  it 
cannot  even  feed  itself,  and  we  can  hardly  consider 
the  imperfect  working  females  among  insects  as 
other  than  degenerate.  It  may  be  good  for  the 
race,  but  will  a  thinking  individual  efface  himself 
on  that  ground  alone? 

Progress,  as  Herbert  Spencer  says,  is  from 
homogeneity  to  heterogeneity,  but  comfort  and 
race  development  work  in  a  contrary  direction.  The 
natural  man,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Guiana  Indian, 
is  an  individualist ;  his  combinations  were  formerly 
only  conspicuous  in  war.  Now  that  this  incentive 
has  gone  he  has  no  reason  for  uniting  with  his 
fellows.  Is  not  this  the  cause  of  his  decrease  in 
numbers  ? 


NA  TURE'S  LA  WS  325 

Why  should  man  attempt  the  domination  of 
everything  ?  This  is  not  difficult  to  answer,  for 
the  instincts  of  every  animal  lead  him  to  tryt 
But  why  has  he  succeeded  to  a  greater  extent 
than  any  other?  The  savage  does  not  increase 
any  more  than  the  wild  beast;  he  may  go  on 
for  ages,  fluctuating  but  little,  meeting  checks  in 
every  direction,  perhaps  increasing  to  a  slight 
extent  in  one  century  and  diminishing  in  the  next. 
He  has  a  hard  struggle  but  he  conquers.  Civilised 
man  goes  on  increasing  and  multiplying,  but 
somehow  the  result  is  not  quite  pleasant  to  our 
feelings.  We  who  see  the  grinding  effect  of  divi- 
sion of  labour  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  got  in 
a  whole  lifetime  cannot  but  deplore  the  advance 
of  Socialism,  or  rather  collectivism.  We  still  have 
the  struggle  for  life,  but  it  is  more  often  the  wily 
and  sharp  fellow  who  succeeds.  Honest  labour 
and  artistic  skill  are  not  at  a  premium  ;  every  one 
desires  to  get  on  so  that  he  may  become  an  idler. 
Nature  teaches  that  the  animal  must  work  as  long 
as  he  can;  he  may  save  against  the  winter  or  a  dry 
season,  but  never  become  a  drone. 

Unproductive  work  is  next  door  to  idleness ; 
such  is  what,  so  many  now  waste  their  lives  upon. 
The  man  who  excels  in  a  game  is  often  honoured 
more  than  he  who  does  the  best  productive  work. 


326  IN  THE  GUIANA  FOREST 

If  the  result  is  nil,  what  good  can  the  winner  do 
to  the  community?  The  world  is  the  better 
because  some  men  have  lived,  but  surely  not  for 
the  sportsman.  In  Nature's  plan  there  appears 
to  be  no  room  for  the  luxurious  idler ;  he  is  a 
degenerate.  We  can  only  therefore  conclude  that 
he  will  in  the  end  be  eliminated  as  unfit. 


Ube  Grcsbam  press, 

UNWIN  BROTHERS    LIMITED, 
WOKING  AND  LONDON 


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